


A Tangled Refuge

by wanderingeyre



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alpha Scott McCall (Teen Wolf), Angst with a Happy Ending, BAMF Stiles, Beta Derek Hale, Canon Compliant, Canon-Typical Violence, Druid Stiles Stilinski, Fluff and Angst, Good Alpha Scott McCall (Teen Wolf), Hurt/Comfort, Kidnapping, M/M, Minor Lydia Martin/Jordan Parrish, Minor Scott McCall/Malia Tate, Monster of the Week, Pack Feels, Post-Canon, Rebuilt Hale House, Stilinski Family Feels, mostly - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-02
Updated: 2021-01-30
Packaged: 2021-03-10 19:53:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 15
Words: 49,554
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28492695
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wanderingeyre/pseuds/wanderingeyre
Summary: The Hale House has been rebuilt for the past five years and for all five of those years, it’s been a sanctuary for supernaturals that needed a place to stay, a halfway point, a place to recuperate, or a place to be safe from whatever was on their tail. Word traveled quickly in the small world of the supernatural and now they rarely had to seek out people who needed help. Most came to them.
Relationships: Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski
Comments: 154
Kudos: 437





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is a **completed** story posting every other day (on even days) until all 15 chapters are posted. Tags should be complete for the entire story. Read along or subscribe and wait for the end.

It’s the quiet part of the night, the space after midnight and sunrise, when the call comes in. Derek is wide awake on the first ring and swipes at the phone to answer it by the second. Too many years of running for their lives and late night phone calls have made him a light sleeper. 

“We’re bringing in an omega. We’ll be there in two hours.” Liam’s voice is steady and sure so Derek doesn’t worry, but he still asks.

“Complications?”

“Not sure yet. She won’t tell us the entire story. She said she’ll only talk to Scott, Stiles, or you.” Derek can hear voices in the background and the hum of a car engine.

“I’ll wake everyone up. Bring her to the packhouse. We’ll decide what to do from there.”

Derek hangs up and scrubs a hand over his face, his short beard rough on his palms. He pulls on jeans and a clean shirt and goes down the stairs of his small cottage and out the front door. The moon will be full in two days and he can feel the pull of it, a deep thrum of longing in his bones. Only one other thing has a pull like that on him, but the moon is the only one he allows himself to lean into, to let have sway over him, to acknowledge. 

The grass is wet with dew and cold on his feet as he walks the mile to the pack house. The year Scott, Stiles, Malia, and Lydia graduated from college they rebuilt the Hale House. It’s not the same as it was when Derek’s family was alive, but it’s filled with laughter and love. Derek knows his mother would be proud of the Pack he helped build and of the alpha Scott has become. Not for the first time, he wishes his mother could have met this new pack, the one he chose and who chose him back. She would run her hands over them, letting them know they belong, they are loved. Derek does his best and hopes it’s enough.

Derek opens the front door of the house and goes into the kitchen. He fills the coffee maker with water and fresh grounds and presses the button. It beeps at him, loud enough in the sleeping house to wake up everyone but the only human in the house. Derek pads silently up the stairs and goes to wake up Scott.

He opens the door and Scott sits up, hair a mess and blinking at Derek. “Something wrong?”

“Probably nothing major. Liam and Theo are bringing in another omega. They’ll be here in a couple hours. She said she’d only talk to the three of us.”

Malia rolls over, putting her back to them and pulling covers with her. “Good, I’m going back to sleep.”

Scott runs a hand over her hip and bends over to place a kiss on her temple. To Derek he says, “I’ll meet you and Stiles downstairs in a bit.”

Derek nods and leaves, walking down to the opposite end of the hall. There’s a curved archway there with stairs that spiral up into the topmost region of the house. With every step Derek takes the smell of citrus and green gets stronger and, with no one around or awake, he allows himself to breathe it in, filling every crack in his soul. Derek pauses outside the closed door on the landing at the top of the stairs to pull back the parts of himself he let that scent expose in the dark and empty stairwell. When everything is carefully tucked away, he pushes the old fashioned latch of the door and walks into the room. 

The southern facing wall is dominated by french doors that open up onto the porch that’s perched amongst the eaves of the house. The western wall is covered in floor to ceiling bookshelves, overflowing with books on everything from Armenian mythology to the latest space opera. Some of the shelves are double stacked with books and papers with small pots of plants tumbling over the sides of the shelves. A desk is tucked into the corner against the wall next to the door. This wall is a combination of corkboard and white board with a map of North and South America pinned on the side and beat-up wooden cabinet. Derek can smell the herbs and things locked away in the cabinet. There are small piles of papers, books, and clothes scattered throughout the room. 

On the eastern wall is a full size bed, with a sleeping form that Derek could draw from memory starfished across the mattress. 

Stiles.

Derek looks down at the sleeping man, at the broad shoulders and wiry muscles dotted with moles, and smiles. He places a hand on Stiles’s shoulder, over the curve of the vine tattoo that twists down his arm, and gives the other man a gentle shake.

“Stiles, wake up.”

“Mmmmm, Derek, come snuggle with me.” Stiles’s voice is heavy with sleep.

Derek’s stomach gives a swoop, but he rolls his eyes. Stiles is as tactile as any wolf and Derek knows the other man doesn’t mean anything by the request. “Wake up, sleepyhead. Liam and Theo are bringing in an omega.”

Stiles groans, rolls over, and opens large copper eyes. “Good, you handle it.”

“She specifically asked for Scott, you, and me.”

“Tell her I’m getting my beauty sleep. Tell her I got eaten by a dragon. Tell her anything, but let me sleep.” Stiles flips over and starts burrowing into the sheets and comforter.

Derek grabs the ankle sticking out of the bed and pulls. He catches Stiles before he can fall all the way to the floor. Stiles flails and rights himself, sitting on the floor with his back to the bed.

“Dammit, Derek. I’ve only been asleep for an hour.”

Derek’s hands are still on Stiles and he takes a step back, breaking contact though it does little to decrease his awareness of the other man. “It’s not my fault you still keep the hours of a sleep deprived teen.”

Stiles rakes a hand through his hair. It curls around his ears and at the edges. “I was trying to figure out a permanent solution for the Nemeton. Quarterly upkeep is all well and good, but I’d like to find something that doesn’t require,” Stiles waves his hand in the air, “my blood as a trigger.”

The Nemeton has been a thorn in their side since the beginning, but Stiles had found a way to counteract its darkness. It wasn’t permanent and required a ritual on each solstice and equinox. Derek hopes Stiles found something else, but not for exactly the reason Stiles was looking. The ritual was dangerous and required a lot more blood than Derek was comfortable seeing outside of Stiles’s body where it belonged.

Stiles lifts a hand up to Derek and Derek takes it without hesitation, pulling the other man up and bringing them close together. “I’m already making coffee downstairs.”

Stiles grins at him then, more awake and with a twinkle of humor. “Be still my heart. You take good care of me.”

Derek is pleased with Stiles’s words even as he reminds himself that Stiles doesn’t mean them the way his wolf takes them. “Get dressed. I’ll meet you downstairs.”

Stiles goes into the small bathroom off his room and Derek goes downstairs. Scott is waiting for him in the kitchen.

“This is the second omega this month that has come looking for us.” Scott pulls out coffee mugs from the cabinet. “Did Liam say if it was a wolf?”

Derek shook his head. The Hale House has been rebuilt for the past five years and for all five of those years, it’s been a sanctuary for supernaturals that needed a place to stay, a halfway point, a place to recuperate, or a place to be safe from whatever was on their tail. Word traveled quickly in the small world of the supernatural and now they rarely had to seek out people who needed help. Most came to them.

Derek hears Stiles start down the spiral stairs at the same time the coffee finishes brewing so he pours a touch of real cream and a heaping spoon of sugar into a cup with some coffee and pushes it towards Stiles when the other man plops down on one of the stools at the island.

“Mmmmmm, coffee. You’re a king among men.” Stiles sips the coffee and sighs in an almost obscene way that Derek is hard pressed to ignore.

“If you keep complimenting me like that, I’ll start to think you actually mean it.” Derek pours his own cup, cream, no sugar, and leans a hip against the counter.

“Wouldn’t want that.” Stiles chuckles. “Don’t worry. It’s been years since we all discovered you’re just domestic fluff and marshmallow in a leather jacket coating.”

Derek crosses his arms. “I rarely wear that jacket anymore.”

“More’s the pity.” Stiles winks at Derek.

Derek can feel his neck getting hot though he knows better than to let Stiles needle him into embarrassment. 

Scott pulls out bread and eggs and starts making egg sandwiches. “Some things change, but you two never do.” He smiles at them both with fondness.

The feeling Derek has at that statement is one of quiet dismay. He and Stiles have settled into a back and forth domesticity and friendship that is comfortable and allows Derek to pretend it’s enough. He gets to have Stiles close and share small moments like this without the risk of building something bigger, deeper, something that when it crashed and burned—as Derek knows it would—would leave a hole so wide he’d never recover. He knows Stiles has everything from Derek he needs. It doesn’t matter what Derek wants, as long as Stiles is happy and well cared for. It’s enough.

The three of them drink coffee and eat. Scott cooks, Stiles talks, and Derek listens to them both. After they finish eating, Scott starts making more sandwiches and by the time Liam and Theo pull into the long drive, they have food and another pot of coffee ready.

Scott stands in the entryway with Derek on his right and Stiles on his left. The door opens and Liam, still blue-eyed and innocent looking despite his years, is the first to walk through. Behind him is Theo with his arm around the shoulders of a tall woman with a long pixie cut and bruises mottling her face. For her to still have that kind of damage, she had to have been beaten badly. Derek breathes in through his nose. The woman smells wrong, like a were for sure, but there’s something else, a sickness or sourness that is on the tip of his memory. Unease curdles the coffee and eggs in his belly.

She lowers her head and rolls her shoulders forward. “Alpha McCall, I’m here to seek sanctuary.”

Scott steps forward and places a soft hand on her chin, lifting up her face. “Sanctuary is given to all who request it of us, but know that any violence or ill will towards others here will not be tolerated.”

The woman nods and drops her eyes quickly. “I understand.”

Scott motions to Derek and he steps forward. “This is my second, Derek Hale and this,” Stiles steps forward but Scott doesn’t get a chance to finish.

The woman’s eyes are ice blue and wide. “You’re Stiles, Druid to the McCall Pack and the One Who Runs with Wolves.”

Stiles shifts his feet and opens his arms wide. “The one and only.”

The woman takes a step forward and Derek moves to put himself in between Stiles and the woman, but Stiles waves him away.

“I’ve been looking for you, druid,” she says as her eyes roll back into her head and she collapses on the floor.

\---

The woman’s words freeze Stiles. Theo and Liam are still closest to the woman and they both lunge forward and catch her before her head can hit the ground. 

“Put her in the med room,” Scott orders and everyone jumps to obey.

It had been Stiles’s idea to turn one of the smaller downstairs rooms into a medical room—lined with mountain ash and mistletoe, of course—for the all too frequent times the pack needed him or Deaton to patch them up. Stiles shares a look with Derek. Derek’s eyebrows are all the way down, which means he’s worried. 

Stiles claps him on the shoulder. “Don’t worry, Sourwolf. I’m sure there’s a perfectly, non-threatening reason why she was looking for me.”

“Stiles, we live in Beacon Hills. When has anything ever happened that started out like this and didn’t end in doom and destruction?” Derek’s voice is resigned.

Stiles squeezes Derek’s shoulder, allowing himself the longer contact because it makes some of his own worry ease up. “You’re right, but being a pessimistic downer is your job. Being an optimistic ball of awesomeness is my job.”

“Ball of awesomeness?” Derek snorts.

Stiles loves the quirk of a smile on Derek’s face that his words earn him. “Damn right.”

The woman is laying on the examination table when Stiles and Derek go into the room. She’s about their age, late twenties, with tangled nut brown hair and the fit form that all weres seem to have, though she is a little thin. Her clothes are good quality but dirty. She’s probably been on the run for a few days. A high were metabolism requires frequent feedings and enough skipped meals means the body starts feeding off itself.

Stiles looks up at Theo. “Did you get her name or you know, any useful information?” 

Theo shakes his head and lets out a frustrated noise. “She wouldn’t talk to us. She found us, knew we were part of the McCall Pack, and asked for sanctuary right away, but said she would only talk to you, Scott, or Derek. She kept trying to ask questions about you.”

“You didn’t tell her anything did you?” Derek takes a step closer to Theo.

Theo drops his head in submission for a moment before looking back up at Derek. “This isn’t my first rodeo. Of course I didn’t.”

Derek puts a hand on Theo’s shoulder and slides his hand along the back of Theo’s neck. “I trust you. I was just checking. Scott made breakfast and some coffee. He’s already in the kitchen with Liam. Go eat and get some rest.”

Theo nods and leaves the med room. Stiles takes one more look at Derek as the other man settles into the chair in the corner of the room then blocks everything out and gets to work.

In the beginning, he trained to be Scott’s Emissary, going to Deaton during every break in college and going back to school with an armful of books and things to practice. Stiles absorbed everything, learning all the druid spells, advanced first aid skills that a werewolf pack required, and eventually was able to start concocting his own herbal remedies with a combination of chemistry and druid skills. What he had not excelled at was the neutrality required of Emissaries. Deaton was still pushing him to take an official Emissary role—Scott needed one and Deaton insisted he was retired—but neutrality didn’t sit well with Stiles and he’d been putting off the official oath taking for a year now.

Stiles starts at the woman’s head, feeling and looking for injuries. There’s some bruising on her face, which he noted earlier, but no lumps to indicate a head injury. She has some shallow lacerations on her torso and they look angry, red. They definitely aren’t healing like they should. The wounds feel hot but there’s no visible signs of infection and no tell-tale signs of wolfsbane poisoning.

Stiles looks up at Derek. “Are you sure she’s a were?”

Derek nods. “She’s not a wolf, but she’s something.”

Stiles hums, tapping a finger on the side of the examining table. “Do you think you could come get a close up whiff of her with your wolfy senses?”

Derek stands and sighs. “Wolfy senses?” 

He frowns and does what Stiles asks, leaning over and breathing deep. His nose wrinkles and Stiles wants to ask right away what it is, but bites down on his lip to keep from talking. Derek is standing close enough that Stiles can feel the heat coming off the other man and Stiles soaks it in while Derek is occupied and won’t notice. Derek moves down the woman’s body, flaring his nostrils and breathing slowly before coming back to her torso.

He frowns as he glances up at Stiles. “She smells like something, off. Not wolfsbane. Something else.”

“Poison, I knew it.” Stiles chews on his finger. “But what kind?” 

There was one way to tell, but Derek may not like it. There were only a couple things that could affect a were in small doses and still produce these kinds of results. Stiles walks across the room to the cabinet above the workbench that lines the back wall of the room. The middle cabinet is lined with jars labeled in blocky, slightly messy script. Stiles closes his hand around the jar he thinks he needs and turns back around.

Derek is watching him, that combination of curiosity and predatory gleam that always seems to go straight to all the places Stiles tries desperately to ignore around Derek.

“I need you to smell something else for me and tell me if it’s the same thing you smell on her.” Stiles pulls the top off the jar.

Derek leans over and puts his nose close to the open jar. Stiles yanks to jar back. “Don’t just breathe it in. Waft it, with your hand. Didn’t you take any chemistry classes? This is mistletoe. If you breathe too much of this in, you won’t be much better off than her.”

Derek growls, but it’s all bark. “Are you trying to kill me?” 

“Not at the moment.” Stiles grins cheekily.

Derek obediently waves his hand over the top of the jar and takes a tentative sniff. He turns his head to the side and sneezes. “That’s the stuff.”

“Excellent. Thanks. You can go back to your brooding chair.”

“My brooding chair?”

Stiles starts pulling other things out of the cabinet. “Yeah, that’s what I call that chair when you’re sitting in it. You sit and brood and watch me like something in here might kill me, or maim me, or make me bleed.”

Derek plops into the chair with a huff. “In my defense, you have been maimed and you have bled in this room and the cabinets  _ are _ full of poison.” He crosses his arms over his chest.

Stiles waves his hand at Derek. “Semantics.” 

He needs a tincture to counteract the poisoning so the were can heal. Normally, they could just let time and nature take its course and allow the mistletoe to get out of the woman’s system, but the injuries are becoming a problem. Her body can’t fight both at once. Stiles turns on the bunsen burner on the corner of his work bench and gets to work.

With Derek’s help, Stiles is able to get the tincture he makes down the woman’s throat, then they sit and wait. Scott joins them and places his knuckles on the examination table, leaning over the woman.

“Did Theo or Liam have any other information?” Derek asks. 

Scott shrugs. “They were casing the northern parts of our territory, listening for rumors, checking things, and she found them in their hotel room, begged for sanctuary, then asked to be brought here. She wouldn’t say a word. What’s wrong with her?”

Stiles takes the empty place at the woman’s other side. “She has mistletoe poisoning, but really low levels. Not enough to kill her outright, but enough to make her sick.”

“Enough so she couldn’t heal properly.” Scott runs his fingers over the bruise on her face. It’s starting to fade.

“Exactly. It’s genius, actually, in a sick, twisted way. If you wanted to keep a were hurting and didn’t want to outright torture them, this would be the way to go.”

Stiles can’t see Derek move but he feels him as the other man approaches, not enough so that they’re touching, but standing close enough that Stiles could easily close the distance if he wanted. Derek crosses his arms over his chest. “Don’t get any ideas.”

Stiles isn’t going to apologize. Someone has to keep his rush-in with-claws-drawn-and-ask-questions-later pack from killing themselves every time they go into a fight. “Just filing it away for later. Might come in handy.”

Derek gives him a look that’s meant to be annoyed, but Stiles knows that Derek appreciates the practical and a little bit ruthless streak Stiles has. It’s saved his werewolf ass too many times for Derek not to be thankful, at the very least.

Scott rubs a hand over his face. “Until she wakes up, we won’t know who did this. I can sit with her if the two of you want to go back to bed.”

Stiles shrugs. “It’s almost morning at this point and I’m awake. I’ll take a nap later. Wouldn’t mind some more coffee though.”

Scott nods and Derek and Stiles file out of the room. 

They take turns throughout the day, sitting with the woman, but Derek won’t let Stiles sit in the room with her alone. Stiles knows better than to argue when Derek gets protective—Stiles secretly adores it—and they spend the day waiting and arguing about the new Star Wars movies.

Derek stops talking mid-sentence and his eyes leave Stiles’s face and go to the woman on the table. “She’s waking up.”

Her cold blue eyes are wide, showing too much white. “Am I safe?”

Stiles nods and uses his soothing voice. “You’re safe. You had some injuries and were poisoned. I gave you an antidote to the mistletoe poisoning and your injuries are starting to heal. You’ve slept for the last few hours. Your body needed the energy to heal.”

Water gathers in the woman’s eyes and tears fall down the sides of her head. “Thank you. Can I… am I allowed to… stay here?”

Derek moves into the woman’s line of vision. “You can stay here as long as you need to. We’ll talk about your options later.”

The woman’s eyes dart to Derek, but go back to Stiles. “You’re the druid, Stiles. There’re stories about you. I wasn’t sure what Alyssa was doing to me, wasn’t sure why I wasn’t healing, but I knew you could fix it.”

“Who’s Alyssa?” Derek moves a step closer to Stiles. Stiles would roll his eyes, but he likes it too much to pretend not to.

More tears. “My alpha.”

Stiles smiles, but it has a dangerous tilt to it. “You’re in luck. Crazy bitches are our specialty.” The woman smiles at that. “What’s your name?” he asks.

“Sophia.”

“Well Sophia, welcome to the Hale House. You’re in the McCall Pack territory now and nothing, and I do mean nothing, will take you from here without your consent. We’re very big on consent around here.” Stiles elbows Derek. “This hunk of Neanderthal next to me, in case you forgot since you passed out last time, is Derek Hale.”

Derek does roll his eyes then, but he doesn’t move away from Stiles and the heat from Derek is a radiating presence on his right. Derek lays a reassuring hand on her arm. “We have a room with a bed made up for you upstairs. If you’ll allow me to carry you, we can make you more comfortable.”

Sophia looks to Stiles and he nods. “Okay.” She’s still looking at Stiles.

He reassures her with a smile. It’s not the first time new people have found Derek intimidating. “I’ll be right behind you, don’t worry.”


	2. Chapter 2

Once Sophia is tucked into one of the guest rooms upstairs, the one with some single beds and a couch, her stomach growls.

“You must be hungry. We have sandwiches and there might still be coffee made, but I’m sure we could find some fruit, oatmeal, cereal, and maybe even a poptart if you ask nicely.” Stiles sits on the edge of the bed and lays a hand on the comforter near Sophia’s ankle. He is careful to be close but not invade her space.

“I’d like that. Thank you.” She bats long eyelashes at Stiles.

“Derek, I’ll stay here with Sophia if you’ll bring up some food.” Stiles turns to look at Derek, who is leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed and brows drawn down.

“I’m not sure it’s a good idea to leave you alone with her yet.”

Stiles’s mouth drops open. Derek can be protective of everyone in the pack, but he isn’t usually so blatant about it. He knows Derek means well, but Stiles can take care of himself. Besides, Sophia is in no shape to hurt him.

Stiles presses his mouth into a thin line and glares at Derek. “I’ll be fine. Besides, you can listen to us the entire way to the kitchen and back.” Stiles lets his own power show in his eyes, a reminder to Derek that Stiles has his own magic.

Derek huffs and leaves the room. Stiles turns back to face Sophia. Her eyes are even bigger than before. “He did what you asked him to do, even though he’s the Second and you’re just a human.”

Stiles chuckles. “Don’t say that too loud. You’ll give Derek a complex. He’s just being overprotective.”

Sophia sniffs the air, nose flaring. “You’re not his are you?”

Stiles heart ticks up, hammering into his ears and his cheeks warm. “His?” He hates the way his voice breaks over that word like he’s sixteen and seeing Derek for the first time. Stiles clears his throat. “No, I don’t belong to anyone.” It’s not a direct lie.

“But he’s protective of you even though you’re not a wolf.” Sophia’s nose flares again. “You smell like him.”

“Well, we all smell like each other—wolves touching and all that—and he’s protective of me because we’re pack.”

“Even if you are able to do things most humans can’t, you’re still human.” A line mars the skin between Sophia’s eyes.

“You keep saying that like it’s a bad thing. You’ve heard of the McCall Pack enough to seek sanctuary here, right?” Sophia nods and Stiles continues, “Then you know that we are a unique pack, made up of many different kinds of creatures with a human or two thrown in.” Stiles shifts his voice from easy-going to serious. He can hear Derek coming up the stairs. “Now, you sought me out specifically. You thought I could heal you and keep you safe. Why?”

Sophia’s eyes flick to the doorway and Stiles knows she’s heard Derek. “There are rumors about you, about how you know things no druid has known for centuries, that you bent the power of the Nemeton to your will, and that you defend your pack instead of remaining neutral. I thought if even half the stories were true, that you’d be able to figure out what Alyssa was doing to me and keep me safe from her.”

“She was poisoning you by giving you small doses of mistletoe over a long period of time. It’ll take days, maybe a week or so, for your system to rid you of it, but you should start feeling better now that you aren’t being fed it every day.”

Derek comes in with the food and Sophia eats. While she is distracted and eating, Stiles opens his awareness to her to see if he can see her true form. It is a skill not all druids have and it is something Stiles is still learning. He can’t always see the auras of supernatural creatures, especially if they are able to shield themselves, but most never bother concealing the shape of their true selves. Sophia’s isan ice blue fox.

“You’re a werefox.”

Sophia startles. “How do you know?”

Stiles smirks and gives her jazz hands. “I’m a druid and a spark. I can see things.” 

Sophia keeps eating and stealing glances at Stiles. Derek pulls up a folding chair that’s in the corner and sits close to the bed. Close enough that he puts a hand on the back of Stiles’s neck, scenting him before laying his hands on his thighs. Stiles does his best not to react to Derek’s blatant show of possession. Wolves will be wolves.

“The McCall Pack will offer you sanctuary, but there are a few stipulations.” Derek’s voice is calm but there is a note of authority there that absolutely should not turn on Stiles, but it does. Gods, it does. 

Stiles slams the door shut on those feelings by habit almost as soon as they rise.

Sophia nods. “I understand.”

Derek continues. “You may stay here as long as you need to. We’ll find you a new pack if that’s your wish or we can find you a place to relocate with a supernatural community that will accept you. If you choose to stay in Beacon Hills long-term, there’ll be a conversation about that. Violence and threats to our pack are dealt with swiftly and severely. Sanctuary will be revoked if we find out you have ill will towards us.”

“I understand.”

“Alpha McCall will want to speak to you once you’ve rested,” Stiles says. “This house is full of weres. If you need anything, you can just ask for help and someone will hear you. Bathroom is across the hall.”

Sophia’s eyes start getting heavy. Derek stands and runs a hand over her hair. The werefox leans into the touch. “Get some rest.”

\---

Derek follows Stiles downstairs to the kitchen. He doesn’t like the way Sophia has been looking at Stiles, like he’s some kind of treat she hasn’t figured out where to bite first, but he has no right to quibble with who does and does not find Stiles attractive.

Stiles drops heavily into one of the chairs at the table. Derek lays a hand on his shoulder. “You should get some rest.”

Stiles grabs the hand that Derek has left there. “So should you.” Stiles stands, keeping a hold of Derek’s hand. “C’mon, Sourwolf.”

Derek lets Stiles drag him up the stairs to his bedroom. The room smells like Stiles, like comfort and home, and Derek falls into the sensation because Stiles is his weakness. This is not the first time Derek has been in Stiles’s room to sleep. They’re Pack and they’re in each other’s spaces all the time. Derek knows this means nothing but Pack and Stiles wanting to take care of him. 

Stiles toes off his shoes and collapses on the bed, fully clothed. He yanks on Derek’s hand and Derek obediently falls into bed beside Stiles. Stiles curls his back into Derek’s chest and pulls Derek’s arm around him. Derek buries his nose in Stiles’s neck and takes a deep breath. He’s permitted this comfort, but he doesn’t ever let Stiles know how desperately he needs it, craves it with a gnawing sort of hunger.

Stiles hums with contentment. “Go to sleep. I’m sure someone will wake us up when we’re needed.”

Derek would give Stiles anything the other man asked for so he falls asleep with his heart tangled up and his body wrapped around Stiles.

Derek wakes up before Stiles, which is usual, and extracts himself from Stiles who still has a death grip on his arm and hand. Stiles makes a protesting noise, until Derek shushes him and waits until Stiles falls back to sleep. Derek crawls out of bed and pauses while he’s still braced over Stiles, one foot on the ground and one knee on the bed.

Stiles has been a fixture in his life for ten years now, living back in Beacon Hills for two—Stiles spent a year with a druid in Idaho after college—and Derek is unsure, after all this time, where Stiles fits in his life. Stiles has lost the thinness of youth. He has the lean build of a runner with broad shoulders. His eyelashes are still long against his cheeks and his eyes still flash at Derek in a combination of mirth and irritation that Derek has become addicted to. Derek fists his hands and drinks in Stiles in a way he can’t when the other man is awake. 

A sound at the bottom of the stairs jerks him from his musings and he sneaks out of the room. Scott is waiting for him in the second floor hallway.

“Everything okay?” Derek asks.

“Sophia is up. She’s asking for Stiles.”

“Have you talked to her yet?” Derek follows Scott into the kitchen. 

It’s almost midafternoon on a weekday, so most of the pack is at work. Derek pulls out bread and fixings for sandwiches.

Scott gets out plates and silverware. “I did. She’s pretty shaken up. Her alpha wasn’t kind to her. She’s promised to abide by the rules and I told her she can stay until she’s better, then decide what she wants to do.” Scott grins at Derek. “She seems very taken with Stiles.

Derek growls and slathers mustard on his sandwich with a little more force than is necessary.

Scott doesn’t even hide his smirk as he assembles meat and cheese on his bread. “Is it going to be a problem?”

Derek slams his sandwich together. “Why would it be a problem?”

Scott shrugs, levels a look at Derek, and takes a huge bite of his sandwich.

“There’s no problem,” Derek insists, but the lie is apparent.

Scott swallows. “If you say so.”

Derek scowls and eats his sandwich.

Over the next few days, his mood about the topic does not improve. Sophia is up after two days and follows Stiles everywhere. Everyone in the pack seems to find it adorable, everyone except Derek.

\---

Stiles is sautéing vegetables for pasta, Derek and Cora are chopping more vegetables for a salad, and Malia is watching the water boil for the pasta. Out of everyone, Malia is the most useless in the kitchen, even if she is enthusiastic. Sophia is reading in the living room while Theo and Liam watch TV. Stiles looks around the room, feels all the strings that connect him to the pack, and smiles as he locates each person.

Those connections have been getting stronger in Stiles’s mind. Not only have they gone from vague feelings to tangible connections but each connection is a slightly different color, bright red for Scott, a vibrant blue for Derek, and gold for the omegas. Lydia is purple and the humans are all orange. Every bond is a slightly different shade of each. Stiles wonders what color he is to Scott and Derek.

“Hey, Derek,” Stiles says.

Derek pauses from chopping carrots and meets Stiles gaze across the kitchen. “What?”

“When you check on the pack bonds, you know in your mind, do they have colors?”

The preparation in the kitchen stops. 

“Colors?” Cora asks.

Stiles suddenly wonders if he has noticed something weird, something only he can see. “Uh, yeah.”

There is an upturn to Derek’s mouth. “Yes. Usually only the Alpha sees the bonds that way or wolves who are very powerful. For most wolves, pack bonds are more about strength of emotion. The only exception is mated pairs. They often see their bond as a color, not always, but sometimes.”

Stiles wants to know if Derek sees any of the pack bonds in color, wants to know if he sees Stiles in grey or something else. The question is burning on his tongue and Derek’s eyes are boring into him like he knows what Stiles is thinking. Years ago, Stiles would have blurted out the question, but he holds the burning coal on his tongue and stirs the vegetables, adding a pile of sausage to the mix.

“Stiles.” Derek’s voice is quiet but has an edge of authority. “Do you see the pack bonds as colors?”

“Would it be weird if I said yes?”

Derek nods. “Not that weird. You’re a druid. You see people’s auras. It makes sense that the pack bonds would manifest differently in your brain.”

The front door opens and Scott breezes into the kitchen. “It smells great in here.”

“Hey, Scotty. Derek was just teaching us about werewolves 101.” Stiles stirs the mixture in the pot and adds tomatoes and spices.

Scott chuckles and runs a hand over each of them as he makes his way to Malia, who he kisses briefly. “I thought we were past that.”

“Stiles said he sees the pack bonds in color,” Cora says as she dumps a handful of cucumber into the salad.

Scott nods. “I suppose that’s not a huge surprise. I see them in color. Derek sees some of them in color too. That’s an easy segue to what Deaton asked me to pass along. Stiles, he wants to see you tomorrow.”

Stiles wants to know what colors Derek sees in the pack bonds. He does not want to talk to or about Deaton. Stiles may be a grown adult, but he is not above dodging Deaton and he has been for two weeks. “I’m not ready to talk to him.”

Scott puts his hands on his hips. “You can’t avoid him forever.”

“He’s pressuring me to make a decision about being your Emissary. He says I’ve already started down the path, that I can’t stay in limbo, and that I have to do something.” Frustration nips at Stiles.

This is an old argument. Deaton was the Hale Pack Emissary before most of them died in the fire and he still adheres to the old ways. According to Deaton, every Pack needs an Emissary, to speak for them and support the Alpha. That sounded fine to Stiles. He would do anything for Scott—would bleed and die for the pack, though he preferred to keep his blood in his body when possible. There was one catch.

Emissaries have to be neutral. They do not rush into battle and fight.

Neutrality is not one of the qualities Stiles possesses. He wants to fight. Every time the pack goes up against something, Stiles is right there, bat and spells in hand. His place is next to Scott and Derek with the pack at their backs. The last time Deaton brought it up, the conversation had ended with raised voices, including Deaton’s, and Stiles storming out of the vet’s office. 

“I don’t want to go.” Stiles knows he sounds petulant and he doesn’t care.

“Stiles.” Scott’s eyes flash red for a moment.

“Are you going to Alpha me into going?”

Scott shakes his head. “I wouldn’t. It’s still your choice, but Deaton says I need an Emissary.”

“Can’t I just be your druid?” A small prick of panic pierces Stiles.

Scott huffs out a breath and starts to speak, but Cora beats him to it. “Nothing about our pack is normal. We have wolves, a coyote, a banshee, a hellhound, a kanima, the head of a hunting family for Christ’s sake, a Spark Druid, and some humans. Why do we have to follow the old rules about this one thing when we frequently ignore others?”

Stiles gives Cora a blinding smile. 

Derek takes a step closer to Stiles, stopping when Stiles can feel the power emanating from the other man. Derek is showing Scott whose side he’s on and Stiles appreciates the support. “Cora has a point. We’ve always made our own way,” Derek says as if his non-verbal communication wasn’t enough.

Scott presses his lips together. “I’m not saying no to your idea, but I’m not sure how it would work. You still have to go talk to Deaton.”

The relief Stiles feels is strong enough to make him light-headed. Derek’s hand is on his wrist and the pressure there grounds Stiles. “Okay.”

“Tomorrow,” Scott says, his voice full of Alpha authority.

“Yes, El Jefe.” Stiles goes back to stirring the sauce.

Scott rolls his eyes. “I’m going upstairs to change. When’s dinner?”

“As soon as you come back downstairs,” Derek replies. To the rest of the house he says, “I know you’ve been listening to the conversation in here even though it didn’t involve you. Dinner’s in five.”

After dinner, the pack goes for a run. Stiles watches from his porch on the roof as they tumble out of the house into the moonlight. Shedding clothes with abandon. Sophia turns around and locks eyes with him as she strips off her shirt. She is pretty and Stiles wishes he could just reply yes to that invitation, but there is nothing he desires about Sophia other than to see her find a place she can be happy. His own desires trend a little darker and much, much farther out of his reach.

Sophia changes into a gorgeous red fox with white and black markings. She turns to look at Stiles one more time, then an enormous black wolf darts from the porch and nips at her hindquarters, moving her along. Stiles chuckles as he watches them. Before the black wolf disappears into the tree line, Derek turns around to look at Stiles and Stiles swears the wolf grins. Stiles gives the wolf a wave and then he’s alone in the house.

The stars are bright in the cloudless sky and Stiles leans back and closes his eyes, settling in to wait for the pack to return. They usually run for a few hours, returning home happy and tired close to midnight. He’s still sitting on the porch, soaking in the night, connecting to the Preserve in his own way, when the black wolf bounds out of the woods and lopes towards the house. No one can see Stiles so he does nothing to suppress the joint feelings of pleasure and exasperation at Derek’s early appearance. Stiles has done well the past couple of years, falling into a comfortable place with the pack, with Derek, and keeping his feelings hidden away where they hurt no one but himself.

The thing about being Emissary is just the tip of the iceberg lurking beneath the sea. Stiles is on the verge of so many decisions that the weight of them is starting to leave bruises. He has to choose his place with the pack and he has to decide what the hell to do about Derek. 

Stiles can feel Derek moving through the house, getting closer. Stiles wonders if the other man will come all the way upstairs. It’s been a long time since Stiles accepted that he would always be more aware of Derek than anyone else. He has been less decisive about what to do about that awareness and of the vast need Derek elicits in him.

The glass doors are open so Stiles can hear Derek walking through his room towards him. 

“Mind if I join you?”

“Never. Pull up a chair.” Stiles opens his eyes and tries to see Derek in the dark, but there’s not quite enough light for him to make out more than Derek’s outline. The waning moon, while still large, is obscured by clouds.

“You were upset by Deaton’s request and by Scott’s insistence that you go talk to him.” Derek settles into the chair closest to Stiles. 

“They both want me to be the Emissary.”

“But you don’t want to be.” Derek is watching him, can see Stiles in the dim light, and Stiles feels exposed by that gaze.

“No.”

Derek leans towards him. “What exactly about being an Emissary scares you?”

“I’m not scared,” Stiles replies even though he knows Derek can sense the lie in his words. Stiles lays his hands on his thighs and sighs. “Look, I can’t be neutral. If there’s a fight, I’m fighting. I’m not going to perfect the calm, never taking sides, bullshit that Deaton does. My loyalty is to my Pack, to you. I’m never going to hold back.”

Derek chuckles. “You definitely have no trouble rushing in, even when it’s foolish as hell.”

“I’m never going to bring balance to the force.” Stiles smiles, despite the seriousness of the conversation when that quip earns him a chuckle from Derek. Stiles can feel the vibrations of it on his skin. “I’m always going to tip the scales for the pack. Always."

Derek sobers and nods. “I know. It’s what makes you dangerous.”

Stiles sputters, but Derek stops him with a hand on his arm. “Dangerous for others. Stiles, you have to decide what you want and stand by that. I think the pack needs you in whatever capacity you choose.”

Stiles swallows. “What do you want me to be?”

Derek startles and clears his throat. “If I could choose, I’d have you at our side fighting, every time.” Derek hesitates, then continues. “I used to not feel that way. I used to think you needed protecting, and I still think you do, but there’s power and grace in the way you fight and I’d never deny you that part of yourself.”

The words hit his chest straight on and Stiles is light headed with them. “Scott doesn’t understand my hesitation and, even though I’m not a wolf, I still don’t like upsetting my Alpha.”

“He’s also your best friend.” Derek’s voice is low and quiet.

It shakes him, the way Derek sees everything about him except the thing he desperately wants to tell Derek and can’t. Stiles swallows. “Yes. The thing is, I think I can serve Scott and you and the pack better if I’m me—a spastic druid with a magic spark.”

“You also have one hell of swing with that bat.” Derek wraps his hand around the nape of Stiles’s neck and squeezes. “Cora is right. Our pack is different. We can make our own way. I’ll talk to Scott. You stop avoiding Deaton. We’ll figure it out.”

Stiles nods and swallows past the lump in his throat. “Thank you.”

“Speak of the devil.” Derek’s hand leaves Stiles neck and his skin feels cold.

A beta wolf, Cora, runs out of the trees, looking up at them as she runs. She joins them a couple of minutes later.

“What’re you two doing up here?” she asks.

“Derek is bossing me around and told me I have to go see Deaton.” Stiles leans into Cora when she settles next to him on the lounge chair.

“You do.” Cora elbows him but then tucks her head into his shoulder.

Stiles makes a noise. “I’m surrounded by overbearing Hales.”

Cora snuggles in further. “You love it.”

“Unfortunately, it has been scientifically proven that I have no ability to resist either of you.” Stiles allows himself to lean into Derek. Derek puts his arm around Stiles, trailing his fingers over Cora’s shoulder, and smiling. Stiles’s heart skips several beats and the wolves both tactfully ignore it. They settle in under the moon and wait for the rest of the pack to get home.

The next day, it’s midmorning before Stiles forces himself to get out of bed. The house still smells like coffee and Stiles sends blessings to the gods that his pack knows to never leave an empty pot of coffee before he’s woken up. Sophia is the only one in the kitchen when he pads into the room.

She perks up, her eyes flashing. “Good morning. Scott and Cora left for work. Everyone else is still sleeping.”

Stiles knows most of the pack slept in Scott and Malia’s room last night in a tangle of warm bodies spread around the room and in the king sized bed in there. Stiles usually joins them, but last night he was too busy thinking to sleep much and had stayed in his room after he’d greeted the tired weres when they returned home.

Stiles pours himself some coffee. “What are your plans today?”

Sophia shrugs. “To be honest, I’m not sure. Scott doesn’t think it’s safe for me to travel around town alone and everyone seems busy.”

Stiles sips his coffee and pulls a bowl down from the cabinet. “I need to go into town to run some errands and pick up a few things. Would you like to come with me?”

Sophia’s smile is blinding and Stiles wishes again he had the space to find her attractive. “I would love that.” She deflates a little. “I don’t want to be a bother.”

“Nonsense. I’m sure there are things you’d like to buy. The pack has money set aside for people who stay with us that need stuff.”

Sophia shakes her head. “I have some money of my own, not much, but some.”

“Great. You can make a list of what you need and we’ll go shopping.” Stiles pours himself some cereal, a mix of Cinnamon Toast Crunch and plain Cheerios. He may be an adult, but he still enjoys a little sugar in the morning.

Stiles sits on the bench seat next to Sophia and she moves so that she’s a little closer to him. Stiles continues eating and drinking his coffee. He’s going to ignore this new problem for as long as possible. 

The day proceeds along and is much more enjoyable than Stiles thought possible. It turns out that the more time Stiles spends with Sophia, the more he likes her. They end up laughing and telling jokes about Marvel characters and arguing about what classics should still be required reading. At the end of the day, when they are leaving the grocery store, Stiles groans because there is one more place he needs to stop before they can go back home.

“I need to stop and see Deaton.” Stiles turns the car towards the road that leads to the clinic.

“I’ve heard his name mentioned a couple times.” Sophia frowns when Stiles parks the car in front of the clinic. “He’s a vet?”

Stiles snorts. “Yes and no. He’s a veterinarian. So is Scott, but Deaton was the old Hale Pack Emissary. He’s a druid too.”

“Like you,” Sophia says, making the connection. 

“He’s one of the people that trained me. He’s the one that recognized what I was before I even knew.” Stiles really does owe a lot to Deaton even if he wants to strangle the other man about seventy-one percent of the time. “I need to go in and talk to him. Do you want to come in or stay in the car?”

“I want to meet him.”

Sophia follows Stiles into the clinic. One of the vet techs greets them. “Scott and Deaton are in the back. They just finished with their last appointments, so you can go on back.”

Scott’s grin when he sees them is bright and wide. “Great. I was just telling Deaton how well Sophia is doing. Now he can see for himself. Deaton, this is Sophia.”

“Nice to meet you.” Sophia shakes Deaton’s hand and then shifts her weight as Deaton scrutinizes her.

“Scott tells me you’re a fox and your alpha was poisoning you.” Deaton comes right out with the hard stuff. Stiles sighs.

Sophia’s grin falters. “Yes. I was a threat to her power and she needed to keep me under control. Stiles saved my life.” She takes a step closer to Stiles and he lets her. Deaton is a lot for people that don’t know him. Stiles likes the man, even if he is frustrating.

“Her alpha was using small doses of mistletoe to keep her from healing and it was slowly killing her,” Stiles explains.

Deaton nods. “You’re lucky you were able to get away. Beacon Hills is a safe place for you.”

Sophia relaxes. “Thank you.”

Scott moves and takes Sophia’s hand. “C’mon. I’ll give you a tour so Stiles and Deaton can talk.”

Subtly, not Scott’s strongest feature, but the man does try. Stiles rolls his eyes at Scott, who just grins at him. The door closes behind them and Stiles turns to face Deaton. The metal examination table is between them and Stiles is thankful for the separation.

Stiles lays his hands palm down on the table and presses his weight into them. “Scott said you wanted to talk to me.”

“The time has come for you to make a decision, Stiles. You have studied, you have the skills, you definitely have the ability, but what you lack is the desire to be an Emissary. Why?”

Stiles takes a deep breath. “I don’t think I can serve my pack well as an official Emissary.”

Deaton does not outwardly react and his lack of reaction is exactly the reason why Stiles has been avoiding this decision for years. “Can you explain that to me? What would be better than serving your pack this way?”

Stiles takes a deep breath and tries to get the words out that he went over and over in his head last night. “Being an Emissary is an important job and it’s traditional for strong packs to have one for negotiations and as a resource for lore and medical treatment when that’s needed, but our Pack isn’t traditional. We never have been.”

Deaton nods. “What you’re saying is correct but I think that the uniqueness of the McCall Pack make it even more important for the Emissary role to be traditionally filled.”

Stiles presses forward. “My magic doesn’t feel only protective. It feels offensive and defensive. It feels like a call to arms. The need to fight sings through my magic, Deaton. I can taste it. There is violence there under the veneer of protection and I don’t want to deny that call. I’m meant to fight, not be neutral.”

Deaton sighs, the only expression of emotion he’s had since Stiles walked into the room. “It’s not the way things are done.”

Stiles waves his hands in the air and glares at Deaton.

Deaton holds up a hand to stop Stiles from speaking. “However, you are correct. Your pack is unique. I disagree with leaving the Emissary role vacant, but I also think that you must listen to your own magic. You are powerful, Stiles, and will become even more so as you learn to harness all of your abilities, but you need to remember that the violence in your magic can become dangerous.”

Stiles narrows his eyes. “I’m painfully aware of the ways magic can be dangerous.” There were still nights that Stiles woke up with the spectre of the Nemeton before it had begun to heal, crushing the air from his lungs as he watched people die.

Deaton allows the silence to fill the room and Stiles lets it stretch as long as he can. He’s about to open his mouth when Deaton speaks again. “If Scott agrees and this is the path you want to choose, then so be it.”

The breath he didn’t know he’d been holding whooshes out of him and Stiles smiles at Deaton. “I can convince Scott.”

“You need to talk to Derek too.” Deaton’s eyes do not leave Stiles as he says it.

Stiles swallows. “He’s Scott’s second so of course he’ll be part of the decision.”

“That’s not exactly the subject I’m talking about.” Of course Deaton says little and leaves off all the important things.

“Derek and I have already been talking about this. He’s the one that encouraged me to choose what felt best to my magic.” Stiles doesn’t know if there’s something else Deaton is trying to imply. He wouldn’t have to guess if the man would just say what he means and not be so damn enigmatic all the time.

Deaton nods. “That’s good. I’m glad that you two talk about these kinds of things.”

Stiles stands up straight. “Why wouldn’t we?” There is a prick of panic in his gut.  _ Does Deaton know something about Derek that Stiles doesn’t? _ Something that would keep Derek from being close to Stiles.

“I’m just glad that your relationship seems to be an honest one.”

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” The prick of panic is replaced swiftly by anger and frustration and the way Deaton never answers a godsdamned question.

“That is a discussion for another time.”

Stiles glares at the other man. “Whatever. I’ve groceries in the car. I need to leave.” 

Stiles doesn’t look back when Deaton says, “I’ll come to the Preserve and we can go look at the Nemeton together later on this week.”


	3. Chapter 3

Mornings are one of Derek’s favorite times. Most nights, he sleeps with his bedroom window open, cracked in the winter and open wide in the summer. In the morning, the sounds of a world waking up is the chorus he loves the most flowing into his room. At the pack house, mornings are chaotic and loud. Derek loves this young pack with a fierceness that crept up on him like a thief and stole his heart, but he appreciates this space he has from them. The sounds of the forest ground him and the cacophony of the pack house drowns out more subtle sounds of the woods around them.

There’s only one sound at the pack house that Derek loves in the mornings, anytime really, and there’s no time of day or night when it’s unwelcome.

Stiles does sometimes stay at Derek’s house when they are working on a project or stay up too late watching movies. Those are the nights Derek tucks away inside of him to hold tight on the majority of the nights when he is alone. It’s more than he ever thought he would have, more than he deserves, and he treasures every small moment.

Derek pours boiling water over the coffee grounds in his French press and sets a timer on his phone. It’s fall and the nights are colder than they used to be. Derek opens the kitchen window to let some of the cooler air in and the rush of green and damp morning air surrounds him. Derek fixes himself a cup of coffee when it's ready and goes outside on the porch, settling into the large cushioned porch swing.

His coffee is halfway gone when he hears Scott walking along the path that leads from the pack house to his cottage. Derek gets up and refreshes his cup of coffee and pours another cup, adding the amount of cream and sugar that Scott prefers, and hands the cup to the other man when he walks up to the porch.

“Thanks. Morning.”

Derek waves a hand at the porch. “Mind if we sit outside? It’s nice.”

Scott settles into one of the chairs on the opposite side of the swing and Derek sits in a chair next to him. Derek doesn’t ask why Scott is here. Scott will tell him when he’s ready and Derek is not the one who starts conversations. He watches and listens and gathers information. He’s more like Stiles than any of them know because his brand of solving problems is quiet, subtle.

“I’d like you to spend some more time with Sophia, now that she’s recovered.” Scott sips his coffee and looks at Derek.

Derek thought this would come eventually. He has no objections, other than the way Sophia stays too close to Stiles for his comfort, but he has no say in that. “I was thinking it would be nice if we taught her some better self-defense skills. Whether she stays here or moves on, she should be better prepared to take care of herself.”

Scott nods. “Exactly. She seems to get along well with Em and Em has had some similar experiences, escaping a pack, so I want to encourage Sophia to be friends with them.”

Emerson was a wolf from the mountain west. They were one of the first weres to find sanctuary with the Hale Pack. The pack they left was traditional and didn’t allow Emerson to live as a nonbinary person. Em had traveled west and never looked back.

“I agree. Em is also empathetic but ruthless when needed. If Sophia trusts Em, she’ll be more likely to be pushed during training by them.”

“I want you to include Stiles and Isaac. I think Isaac likes Sophia and Stiles should be included because Sophia needs a human to test her skills against.” Scott’s dark brown eyes are steady on Derek, watching him for a reaction of some kind.

“Stiles is far from an easy target.” Derek’s voice is defensive. Stiles can hold his own with the wolves and frequently bests them. They learned long ago never to underestimate Stiles, and Derek is proud of that.

“That’s not why I want him included. Sophia seems to like Stiles, a lot.” Scott’s eyes narrow when a low growl escapes Derek. He continues, “I want her to learn that humans aren’t easy targets and to learn how to fight them without hurting them. It will teach her control, the same as we do with our own pack members.”

Derek knows that Scott is right, but he doesn’t have to like it. “I’ll talk to all of them today.” 

Derek takes his time going to the pack house. Isaac will have already left. He’s a junior clerk at a law firm in town that works with children and families and he usually goes in early. That leaves Em, Sophia, and Stiles. Em is a tutor at the local high school and tends to work mostly evenings, weekends, and the occasional morning, so they should be available.

The walk to the main house is calming. The sun has warmed up the air but the small bite of fall is still there. They should have an outdoor fire soon. Maybe this weekend at the Sunday pack dinner that Stiles and Cora insisted become the thing they did every Sunday a couple of years ago. It only took once before it was enshrined in tradition.

Em and Sophia are sitting at the kitchen table, laptops open, reading the news and drinking coffee. Stiles is nowhere to be seen, but Derek can hear his heartbeat coming from the back room on the first floor. Derek pours himself another cup of coffee and sits down at the table. 

“Good morning,” Em glances up, dark brown eyes bright, then goes back to what they were reading.

“Morning to you both. Scott came to visit me this morning.” Derek lays a hand flat on the table.

Em knows Derek better, knows the declaration is the beginning of a longer conversation, and immediately shuts their laptop and looks at Derek. “What did he say?”

Sophia senses the shift and pauses what she’s doing. “Is something wrong? Do I have to leave?” She gives a short whine at the end of the sentence.

Derek wraps his hand around Sophia’s arm. “No one will make you leave here unless you are a danger to the pack. No one will make you leave here against your will. We made you a promise.” Sophia relaxes under his hand and Derek wants to wrap his claws around her old Alpha’s neck.

Em leans into Sophia too and Derek is heartened to see Em reach out. They don’t trust as easily as some of the others in the pack, but they tend to be the first to offer comfort when needed. “What did Scott want?” they ask.

“He wants you, Stiles, Isaac, and myself to help Sophia learn some better self defense skills. It’s been awhile since we had someone new to teach and I think it would be good for Sophia to get to know you, specifically, better. After all, you were one of the first people we helped and who decided to stay long term.”

Sophia turned to Em. “You haven’t always been here?”

Em wraps their hands around their coffee mug and shakes their head. “I’m from a traditional pack east of here. The pack is ruled by the men and the women have very little power. When I came out as gender non-conforming they told me I had to present as my assigned gender at birth or I had to leave. They’ve dealt with some of the female wolves getting ideas about leadership over the decades, but nothing like me. They didn’t know what to do, so instead of the usual punishment, they banished me.”

Sophia wraps her hand around Em’s neck. “I’m so sorry.” 

Em smiles. “It’s my gain. I was on the road for a few months and heard about this pack in northern California that offered sanctuary. The rest is history.” 

Sophia leans over and lays her head on Em’s shoulder. “I’m glad you’re here. I think you’re wonderful exactly the way you are.”

Em chuckles. “Thanks, lovely. I’m happy here. Scott asked Derek to include me because he knows I have a unique perspective on the McCall Pack and I know what it means to leave your pack of birth behind. He’s smart, my Alpha.” Em winks at Derek. “His second isn’t so dumb either, most of the time.”

Derek wants to roll his eyes, but he’s feeling indulgent so he smiles instead. “Have either of you eaten?”

They shake their heads. Derek stands up. “I’ll make some eggs and bacon. I predict Stiles will be in here within five minutes of me starting the bacon.”

Em snorts. “I give it two tops. That man has a sixth sense about two things on this earth and bacon is one of them.”

“What’s the other one?” Sophia asks.

Em nods towards Derek. Sophia is quiet, which Derek is thankful for as he puts his back to those two and the topics at the table go back into safe territory. He concentrates on the simple task before him, pulling out bacon, eggs, a pan, and a spatula. Derek lays the strips of bacon in the pan and looks up when Em makes a noise.

“I’m starting a timer.” They wave their phone at Derek and he smiles as he goes back to his task, trying to immerse himself in it to ignore the other things in his head.

Derek can hear Stiles moving in the back of the house, knows he’s moving closer, and that he’s going to be wrong about Stiles and his devotion to bacon. He quakes about what else he could be wrong about.

The moment Stiles rounds the corner into the kitchen, Em cackles. “One minute forty seconds. I  _ knew _ it.”

Stiles continues propelling into the kitchen. He moves in close to Derek, peering into the pan by resting his chin on Derek’s shoulder. Everything in Derek wants to lean into that touch, but he holds himself still. 

“Are you making bacon?” Stiles asks.

Sophia and Em burst into laughter.

Stiles takes a step back and Derek mourns the new space between them. Stiles looks between the three of them. “What did I do?”

“Derek offered to make us bacon and eggs. He guessed you’d be in here in less than five minutes. Em said two.”

Derek prays that she will stop retelling the conversation there.

Stiles grins wide and slides into the seat next to Sophia. “Derek should never underestimate my devotion. Bacon is the love of my life.”

Derek rolls his eyes at that and the three at the table burst into laughter again. The sound does a lot for Derek’s disordered thoughts. It’s getting painful for him to resist the urge that is Stiles in his life. He is used to the pain relationships bring and he will weather this pain like he always does, as long as Stiles is happy and laughing.

“Derek, do you need any help?” Stiles asks.

Derek shakes his head. “I got this.” 

While the bacon fries, he pours Stiles a cup of coffee, adds cream and sugar, and takes it over to Stiles, sliding his hand over the other man’s neck as he walks away. Stiles smiles at him and Derek feels his heart flip. Em fills Stiles in on Scott’s plan while Derek goes back to cooking.

Stiles nods. “I have some work to do this morning but I’m available after that. Waiting means Isaac will be home and he can join us.”

“What are you working on?” Sophia asks.

Stiles taps his finger on the table. “I’m making tinctures of different herbs and trying to create some common anecdotes in more concentrated forms. I’m trying to get around the whole powder in wounds and fire solution. It’s messy and gross. Besides, science is fun.”

Breakfast is cozy, when Derek sits everything down on the table. He sits next to Em and tries not to notice how Sophia sits close to Stiles and smiles at him. He tries and fails, but his actual feelings about it he ignores with a steady determination. 

Their first training session isn’t much better on his resolve. Derek has Sophia go against Stiles first. She does what he wants her to do—she underestimates the human’s ability to dart and dash just out of reach while landing small blows with the bat he has gripped in his hands. Stiles is careful not to apply too much pressure with his bat. It’s spelled and poisoned and hurts when he uses his full force.

Stiles twirls the bat as Sophia pants. “You’re not an easy target.”

“Nope.” Stiles pops the p. “I may not be a were, but I train with them. You said yourself, I’m the man who runs with wolves. I wasn’t always this specimen of awesomeness you see before you.”

Isaac snorts. “Specimen of awesomeness? Stiles, your ego is showing.”

Stiles laughs and Sophia takes advantage of the distraction and manges to get Stiles off his feet. She starts to crow about her victory when Stiles swings his bat around and takes her feet out from under her. She lands in a pile on top of Stiles, both of them shaking with laughter.

Derek holds out a hand to Sophia and helps her up, then does the same for Stiles. “Good job waiting for him to be distracted.” He glares at Stiles. “You let your guard down.”

Stiles points his bat at Isaac. “It’s Cupid’s fault.”

Isaac smirks and cracks his knuckles. “Any advantage you can get.”

Derek looks at Sophia. “Never underestimate someone or something because they look small. You can use that to your advantage too. You’re smaller than Isaac and Stiles, but that means you can be faster than them too. Isaac, you’re next. First one to draw blood, but not too much.”

Stiles plops on the grass next to Em and watches Sophia and Isaac. Derek is concentrating on the two sparring, but he is hyper aware of Stiles. Derek clenches his jaw and focuses on the task before him so he almost misses the sound of it. Stiles sits up, focused on the road that leads to the Hale House. That’s when Derek hears the sound of a car he doesn’t recognize coming down the road.

“Something tripped the wards.” Stiles stands, all laughter gone from his face as he grips his bat tight and moves to stand on Derek’s right.

Isaac and Em step forward and stand on Derek’s left. Derek can smell the spike of fear coming from Sophia. “Sophia, you’re safe here. No one can make you leave without your consent, “ he reminds her. 

Sophia stands behind Derek and Stiles so she can see what’s coming, but is also protected. 

“How long ‘til any of the others get home?” Isaac asks.

Derek flexes his hands, fingertips itching with the need to let his claws out. “About thirty minutes.”

Stiles turns around to Sophia. “If things go south, you run to my workroom on the first floor. It’s lined in mountain ash. Close the door behind you and nothing will get in unless they are human or one of us. Do you understand?”

Sophia’s eyes are wide as she nods and a dark SUV with Utah plates pulls up.

The doors open and six people get out of the car, weres all of them. Four of them are obviously muscle and the two that slide out of the driver’s and passenger’s side are still dangerous, but less obviously so. Derek knows those are the two to watch.

“You should have given warning of your arrival in our territory.” Derek speaks first and his words have their desired effect. 

The six weres shift on their feet, suddenly unsure. Five pairs of eyes swivel to the man who got out of the passenger side of the vehicle. He smiles an oily smile and Derek can feel his fangs ache in his gums.

“Apologies. We were in a bit of a hurry and our Alpha didn’t know how to reach you.”

“You seemed to find our house okay.” Stiles voice is steel and Derek feels a curling of want in his gut.

“Alpha Benson sends her regards and asks that you return the member of her pack that you are holding hostage.”

Stiles snorts. “Is that what you call it when one of your pack escapes torture to find a safe place to heal?”

“You have yet to ask leave to be here,” Derek interjects before Stiles can start a fight. The good cop bad cop routine is one they’ve played often.

The man inclines his head. “I’m Stephen Benson, second and mate to Alpha Benson, and she requests leave for us to be in your territory. We are here to take Sophia home where she belongs. Come, little sister. It’s time for you to come home.”

“I don’t want to go.” Sophia’s voice is small and Derek clenches his jaw in anger over the pain that caused fear in the younger were.

Stephen takes a step forward and growls. Stiles steps forward, always fearless. “Sophia is not going anywhere with you.”

Stephen growls and his eyes flashes blue. “She’s coming with us. The Alpha demands it.”

The words were meant to be a challenge and they are met as such. The three wolves at Derek’s side growl and spread their clawed hands. Derek is glad to let his anger and frustration go and feels his own face and hands change. Even Stiles hums in a steady, dripping kind of anger. They are outnumbered but not outmatched.

Derek speaks around the fangs in his mouth. “Your Alpha holds no authority here. This is the territory of the McCall Pack. Tell your Alpha that Sophia has sought sanctuary from us and protection has been given freely. Your Alpha will have to come in peace to talk to Alpha McCall if she wishes to bring Sophia back into her fold and even then, it will be Sophia’s choice, not yours and not your Alpha’s.” 

Stiles twirls his bat and his smile ticks up above eyes that have gone cold. This is the version of Stiles that is the most dangerous, but the foxes in front of them don’t know that, yet. “I should tell you that Sophia won’t be going anywhere near your pack again because she was poisoned by the Alpha that was supposed to protect her. That’s not something we overlook.”

Stephen goes straight for Stiles—most of them do—assuming he’s the weak link. They could not have made a worse or more deadly assumption. Stiles swings his bat, a blur of motion and vicious intent as his eyes take on a green glow. Derek circles to move behind Stephen as the other man steps into the reach of Stiles’s bat, a moment too late to move out of the way. There is a sickening crack as the bat makes contact with Stephen’s collarbone. Smoke and steam rise where the bat hits the other man. Derek shoves his claws into Stephen’s back, right into his kidneys and picks him up, throwing him aside. 

Derek chances a glance at the others. Stiles has already moved on and dispatches two of the goons fighting Isaac in quick succession. Em is holding their own, though there is a line of blood on their face. Derek goes over to Stephen and puts his foot on his neck. 

“Call them off,” Derek growls, flashing blue eyes.

Another crunch of bat on bone and the fox that scratched Em falls to the ground.

Derek moves his foot to the collarbone and shoulder that he knows are broken and still steaming slightly. He puts pressure on the bones and Stephen cries. “Call. Them. Off.” Derek growls.

Crack. Another fox falls.

“Stand down.” Stephen whispers it, his skin pale and clammy with pain. The fighting stops. The fox left standing sheathes their claws and holds up human looking hands.

Stiles stalks over to where Derek has Stephen pinned. “This could have been solved in a civilized manner. All you had to do was take a message to your Alpha.”

Stephen sucks in a lungful of air and winces. “What did you hit me with?”

Stiles’s face is still cold, deadly and Stephen pales further. “This thing?” Stiles twirls the bat, a smile that is not a smile on his face. “It’s mountain ash rubbed with mistletoe and the blood of a banshee. Hurts, doesn’t it?” Stephen nods and Stiles presses the end of it into the other man’s neck, making smoke rise from Stephen’s skin and causing the man to whine. 

Derek touches Stiles’s arm, and Stiles moves the bat but keeps his eyes locked onto Stephen. “Tell your Alpha Sophia is under our protection. If she wants to speak to her, she needs to go through official channels first and the decision is up to Sophia. Now, leave.”

Stiles and Derek step back, giving Stephen room to get up. He struggles, his breath hitching in pain but neither of them offer a hand. The foxes gather each other up and limp back to the car. Two of the weres Stiles hit in the head are still unconscious. Their fellows dump them without ceremony into the back of the SUV and the rest of them climb into the vehicle, slamming the doors. Stephen glares pure venom at Stiles and Stiles stares back, unafraid and menacing until the SUV turns and disappears down the road. 

Derek wishes Stiles held one ounce of self preservation. He wishes that this ruthless version of Stiles did not unfurl every carnal need Derek kept hidden. He wishes he could give in and grab Stiles and possess him in every sense of the word, here in the middle of the yard in the aftermath of the confrontation. Derek reaches out and squeezes the upper part of Stiles’s arm before turning to the others.

“Everyone okay?”

Isaac nods. There are a couple of drops of blood on his shirt but there’s no mark on the wolf. Derek’s eyes go to Emerson. “Em?”

Em touches the blood on their cheek and it smears. The wound has already healed. “A-okay, boss.”

Stiles has his arm around Sophia, who is shaking. “I think we have some tea in the house. Let’s go make some and eat cookies.” He looks at Derek over her head and smiles, his eyes like warm whiskey again. Derek returns the nod as Stiles leads Sophia into the house.

Once the door closes on them Derek turns to Isaac. “This is going to be a problem.”

Isaac puts his hands on his hips. “Scott thought it would be. I’ll make sure we have the paperwork ready for her to legally sever her ties with her old pack if it’s required so they can be filed with the council. I’ll also draw up papers for a restraining order so we can be ready to file with the human authorities. We’ll do whichever is necessary.”

“I’m going to call Scott. Em, go in and check on Sophia and Stiles.”

It’s quiet for a few days after that. Sophia throws herself into training with her teeth clenched and a new fire in her eyes. Derek is pleased by this. She also attaches herself to Stiles and is rarely gone from his side. Derek is less than pleased with this. By the end of the week, it’s movie night and he’s downright grumpy.

Stiles and Sophia pick  _ Ferris Bueller’s Day Off _ and Derek starts popping popcorn and pulling snacks from the pantry. Stiles slides into the kitchen, looking pleased and relaxed. Derek can’t help but smile at him. Stiles presses against his left side and leans into him, humming in the way that says he is extra happy. Stiles adores movie nights.

“Did you get those mini Reeses?” Stiles asks, sorting through the pile of candy.

Derek snorts and elbows Stiles, which doesn’t move the other man. Not that Derek wants him to move away. “Of course I did.” Derek pulls it from the bottom of the pile and hands it to Stiles.

“I’m going to have to share these with Malia if she sees them.”

“Then don’t let her see them.”

“The real question is am I ruthless and selfish enough to hide them and eat them in front of her.” Stiles reaches around Derek and grabs some popcorn from one of the bowls he’s filling.

“Ruthless, absolutely. Selfish, not possible.”

Stiles snorts. “I’m an asshole, Derek, like seventy-eight percent of the time. I’m selfish.”

“Never with the people you care about.” Derek’s voice is quiet. He’s thinking about the deep way Stiles cares about everyone in the Pack and how that kind of loyalty feels knowing he’s included in that.

“You knew I’d share them.”

Derek runs his hand down Stiles’s back, following the column of his spine. “You always do.” He swears he almost feels Stiles shiver but it has to be his imagination. Derek picks up two bowls and carries them into the living room, which has been turned into a sea of blankets, bean bags, and overstuffed floor pillows. Scott, Malia, and Isaac are already ensconced on the sectional. There’s a spot on the end taken up by Noah, Melissa at his feet on a cushion while he massages her shoulders. 

Lydia and Parrish are in the loveseat. Theo, Liam, and Emerson have pushed together three bean bags, covered them with blankets, and made a nest for the three of them. Sophia is sitting off to the side, looking unsure. Stiles, with his big heart, goes straight for her and Derek has to swallow down a surge of jealousy. Scott’s eyes slide to Derek, then move to Stiles. Derek shakes his head and kicks a pillow next to where Stiles has flopped onto the floor, spilling a few pieces of popcorn on the way down.

Sophia snuggles into Stiles and Stiles chuckles. Derek sits on Stiles’s other side and tries to act comfortable with the obvious interest Sophia has in Stiles. He swallows the tightness in throat and only relaxes when Stiles leans into him with a sigh.


	4. Chapter 4

Stiles slips into the woods early Sunday morning, his backpack on his shoulder and a lightness in his steps. The sun is bright in a cloudless sky and he has a tumbler of coffee cupped in his hands. The coffee is steaming the cool morning air and Stiles hums, watching it. The birds are singing and he is alone, something that has not happened often the last few days. He’s slept alone, for sure. He closed the second door to his room, the mountain ash pocket door he’d installed, which he does not always do, but he had been concerned that Sophia would come see him. Not that he thought he was worth sneaking around for in the middle of the night, but she had been in his space all week and he was starting to question whether he should keep her out of his space at all.

Sophia could argue about economics and ethics, she laughed at his jokes, and she was pretty. She seemed genuinely interested in him and Stiles wished he could say he was more than intrigued. Stiles sighs, taking the fork in the path that would lead to the Nemeton. The other way went to Derek’s house.

Derek.

Stiles is going to have to make a decision about Derek. Stiles had once thought that, given time, the two of them could grow to be something more, something bigger, but the months and years kept passing and nothing changed. The ache of need never left him and Stiles is beginning to think it was time he let this unrequited love go. The pain of that thought is a knife to his heart—Derek Hale will always be a fixture in his life, no matter what else or who else is in it. The possibility of Derek has always been better than the reality of anyone else, but Stiles is not sure it’s enough anymore.

The Nemeton looms large in the clearing. Years ago, Stiles wanted to burn the stump to the ground, but releasing that much magic into the world with fire was just as dangerous as leaving it whole. This past year, Stiles started a different approach. He has been coming here and feeding the Nemeton his blood and magic for a year. Today, he’s going to try to harness the energy he has poured into the tree to create something new, something different.

Stiles sits cross legged in the middle of the stump and sips his coffee. When the cup is empty, Stiles sets it aside and lays back on the stump, spread eagled, with his eyes closed. He opens his awareness, reaching out to the life in the Preserve, opening up wide enough to feel each tree, each small bird and animal, and every squirming thing buried beneath the surface of the ground. The rush of it takes everything from Stiles until he pulls it all to him, harnessing the power pulsing in the Pack’s territory, and mingling it with his own, weaving it into a ball of power and possibility. 

Stiles is shaking with the effort as he imagines seeds, small but brimming with potential, and he plants them around the base of the Nemeton, driving them deep into the earth. He calls to them, feeding them from the power of the Nemeton and from his own spark. He asks them to grow, to be well, to protect the forest, and to keep darkness at bay. He sings a song of life to them and he watches them grow in his mind as they burrow into the soil with strong roots and intent. Stiles continues growing them in his mind until he must stop before he depletes himself. He lays there, eyes closed, breathing in power from the land and letting it refill him.

When Stiles opens his eyes, the sun is well past its zenith and looks closer to sunset than noon. Before he sits up, he feels Derek in the clearing and he can’t help the smile that opens on his face. Stiles sits up and groans. Derek is beside him in an instant.

“I feel like shit. Did it work?” he asks.

Derek puts an arm around Stiles’s shoulder to steady him. “You mean are there seedlings growing around the Nemeton when there was nothing there before? Yes, there are.”

Stiles shifts, his muscles protesting, to peer over Derek’s shoulder. Saplings, two feet tall and full of leaves, stand in a ring every four feet around the Nemeton. Stiles makes a victory fist.

“I knew it would work! Suck it, Deaton.”

“Wow, your sportsmanship has improved, I see.” Derek is giving him the disapproving eyebrows.

“He told me this wouldn’t work and that it was too dangerous, but I did it and look, new little guardian trees!” Stiles can feel his heart beating fast and it only has a little bit to do with the fact that Derek is still kneeling next to him with his arm around Stiles’s shoulders.

“It was dangerous. When I got here you were glowing and then you fell asleep. You’ve been asleep all day.” Derek growls.

“The magic took a lot out of me, but I stopped before it could kill me.” Stiles waves a hand in dismissal.

“Stiles.”

“Derek.” Stiles tries to imitate Derek’s glower, but it just makes him laugh. He is too happy to take Derek’s displeasure seriously. Besides, Stiles knows Derek is only annoyed because he’d been  _ worried _ .

Stiles elbows Derek. “Help me up. I’m starving. Can we go back to your house? If I could stand up right now on my own, I would totally do a happy dance.” 

Derek pulls Stiles up by the hand, but Stiles wobbles when he gets upright and almost falls into Derek. Derek catches him under the arms.

“Woah. Okay, maybe a little more drained than I thought.” Stiles laughs, it’s a little high pitched because Stiles is  _ very, uncomfortably _ aware that his body is now flush with Derek’s. “Remember that one time I held you up in the pool for three hours?”

“Of course.” Derek’s arms tighten and he shifts Stiles so that they are both sitting back down on the Nemeton.

“This is like that but without the pool, or the water, or scaly Jackson trying to kill us.” Stiles feels less wobbly sitting down. “I have some snacks in my pack over there.” Stiles points to it.

Derek sighs—Stiles knows it’s for show—and brings the backpack over to Stiles. This one is a military field pack, lots of compartments and places for small items like vials of mountain ash and poisons. In a top compartment in a double ziploc bag—no one wants snacks mixed with wolfsbane—there are some power bars, runner’s goo, and Reese’s. Stiles takes out the goo first.

“That stuff smells disgusting. I hate it when you give it to us. It tastes like chemicals.” Derek wrinkles his nose and Stiles fights down the urge to smile dopily.

“It doesn’t taste awesome, but it does the trick for quick energy and it’s lightweight.” Stiles squeezes the liquid in his mouth and swallows while he grabs a Reeses. He opens the package and offers one to Derek. 

Derek eats his in two bites, chewing and watching Stiles. Stiles shoves the entire thing in his mouth and closes his eyes as all the sugar and electrolytes flood his system. He concentrates on deep breathing and grounding himself, reaching back out to the territory to see if it feels different. There’s an undercurrent in the Preserve that wasn’t there before, a pulse of green that fills Stiles, there’s a slight burning sensation on his arm, but Stiles keeps his eyes closed. He’s not done checking on the changes his magic worked.

Stiles tests each pack bond, starting with the members farthest away, Jackson and Ethan, then moving in concentric circles, touching each pack bond in his head. Chris. Melissa. Dad. Liam. Theo. Malia. Cora. Emerson. Lydia. Parrish. Scott is stronger than the others, but not as strong as Derek, who pulses strong in blue and green next to him. Stiles latches onto all the pack bonds and weaves them together, with his magic and the magic of the Preserve. Instead of draining him, this process fills him with power, he can feel it seep from his skin. He uses the power to bind the Pack together and bind it to the territory. He takes the excess and shoves it into the Nemeton. 

The burning on his arms increases, but he’s almost done. Stiles lays his palms flat on the Nemeton and lets the residual power drain out of him and back into the Preserve. A kernel of it stays inside of him, warm and inviting, binding him to the Pack in a way he wasn’t before. Stiles’s arms burn through the process, a steady fire curling over his skin. When the burning stops and the power of the Preserve and his magic are back at an equilibrium, Stiles opens his eyes.

Derek’s eyes are electric blue and wide. “Stiles.” His eyes flick back to hazel. “You were glowing.”

“Awesome.”

“What did you do? I thought you said you were done?” Derek scoots closer and puts both hands on Stiles’s knees.

“I thought I was, but I was checking on the Preserve and the Pack bonds and it felt right to weave everything together.”

“I know, I felt it.” Derek’s voice is almost a whisper and his hands tighten on Stiles.

Stiles leans forward. “You did?”

Derek nods. Stiles pulls the right sleeve of his hoodie up and gasps. Derek grabs his hand and pulls his arm so it’s straightened out. He’s had a tattoo of leaves high up on this arm, but they were a light green and black. The new tattoo is a vibrant green of leaves twisted around his arm. Buried in the leaves are the concentric circles of the McCall pack and Derek’s triskelion. The pack symbols are deep black against the verdant green. 

Stiles frees his hand from Derek and lifts his other sleeve. He can’t expose his arm high enough to see where the burning was so he yanks his hoodie over his head. Goosebumps break out over his skin and not only from the cold. Circling the top of his left arm, from elbow to shoulder is a circle of trees, green outlined with black, a mirror of the trees Stiles planted around the Nemeton.

“Stiles, what did you do?” Derek’s voice is choked.

The vines on his right arm twist all the way up to his shoulder and down to the back of his hand. Stiles makes an incoherent noise while his mouth catches up to his brain.

“Oh my, God. Derek. I healed the Nemeton and bound my power to the Pack. Looks like I’m officially the Pack druid now.” Stiles makes a fist pump and grins.

“Stiles,” Derek growls. “This is serious. We don’t know what the repercussions will be.” His eyebrows are all the way down. Stiles can see Derek is awash with worry, for him, but Stiles can feel something else.

There are other things swirling under the surface of Derek’s words and Stiles can  _ feel the current of them _ . Derek is worried, but he is also brimming with pride mixed with a deep and abiding affection. Stiles stomach swoops and his heart does something complicated while he stares at Derek for once in his life completely at a loss for words. 

Reality hits and it hurts, like pins into a balloon. Derek cares about everyone in the pack, Stiles reminds himself. Stiles curls in a bit.

Derek inches closer and cups Stiles’s face with his hands. They are warm and Stiles closes his eyes, reveling in the contact. The magic drained too much of him. He can’t conceal his emotions and the effort of reining in the sweep from joy to sorrow is beyond what Stiles can do in this moment.

“Stiles.” Derek’s voice is soft and Stiles shakes with the tenderness in it, knowing that softness would be directed at any hurt pack member. “Please say something. What’s wrong?”

Stiles swallows, pushes down his emotions as best he can, and takes a shaking breath. “That took a little more juice than I thought it would. It’s left me a little wobbly feeling, a little exposed.” It’s enough of the truth that it’s not technically a lie, even if that truth is concealing a deeper, more painful truth.

Derek’s thumb rubs a line across Stiles’s cheekbone and Stiles is weak so he leans into the touch. “You scared me for a minute there.”

“Sorry.”

“We should get you back to the house.”

Both of them look toward the house. “Scott’s coming,” they say at the same time. 

Derek moves his hands and Stiles feels flayed by the loss of them. “How do you know?” Derek asks.

Stiles tilts his head and touches the awareness in his mind. “My magic. Everything is enhanced.” Stiles did not want to tell the other man about his new found ability to sense emotions through the bond, the way a wolf would. Stiles pauses. “Malia and Cora are with Scott.”

The trio burst into the clearing, looking ready for a fight.

“What happened?” Scott’s eyes are glowing red.

“Why is Stiles covered in tattoos?” Malia bounds closer and hops onto the Nemeton.

Cora is walking in a circle around the new ring of trees. “Where did these trees come from?”

Derek looks at Stiles and raises an eyebrow that means, you explain this craziness.

“Well, I sorta healed the Nemeton and became the Pack Druid, at least in the eyes of the territory.”

“What?” Scott’s eyes blink back to brown and he is a blur until he plops down next to Stiles.

Stiles waves his hand. “And I, uh, also may have woven the Pack tighter to the Preserve and to the power in the healed Nematon.”

“What does that mean?” Malia leans towards Stiles and sniffs him. “You smell the same, but sad. Why are you sad?”

Stiles scrambles for a reason. “I’m not sure what the repercussions will be.”

He’s lying and Malia opens her mouth to say something else, but Scott stops her with a hand on her shoulder. Cora joins them and the four of them end up sitting around Stiles, knees pressed in close. 

“Start at the beginning.” It’s not a request from Scott, it’s a demand from his Alpha, and Stiles explains what he did.

He finishes up with, “I’ve always had a general awareness of the Pack in my mind.”

Scott nods. “You said the bonds had colors the other day.”

“Right, but now I can feel through them. I think it’s similar to how weres can smell emotions. I have a general sense of how each of you are feeling right now.”

Malia leans into him looking at him like he is some new kind of specimen. Cora is intrigued. Derek leans back, face blank.

Cora is the one that speaks. “Can you read all of us now?”

Stiles nods and opens his awareness. “Scott is excited, but worried. Malia is intrigued and confused. Cora is proud.” Stiles winks at her and she kisses his cheek. “Derek is,” Stiles stops and searches for the right description because right now Derek is a mess of worry, pain, despair, and underneath it all, desire. Stiles meets the other man’s eyes. “Derek is worried.”

Derek returns Stiles’s look like he knows Stiles didn’t tell the whole truth and he can’t decide if he’s happy about it or not.

“You also said something about being the Pack druid?” Scott asks.

Stiles blows out some air. “I, uh, may have needed to bind myself to the territory to plant the new trees and then it felt right to weave the power of the Pack together to the territory with my magic.” Stiles holds out the exposed tattoos on his arm. “And I got these beauties.”

“He was glowing.” Derek lays a hand on Stiles’s knee.

“Does the territory feel different to you?” Stiles asks Scott.

Scott nods. “I could feel your magic through the bond and the Preserve feels…” Scott closes his eyes and takes a breath. “It feels deeper, settled. Before, there was always something lurking just off the corner of my vision, something that I could never quite place, but that made my wolf uncomfortable.”

Derek nods. “The Nemeton, or what was left of it.”

Scott agrees. “Yes, but now it feels... green is the best way for me to describe it.”

Derek leans closer to Stiles. “There is more power in the Preserve than there was before, a pulse that was missing.”

“Do you think what Stiles did will be dangerous to him?” Cora presses a hand against Stiles’s neck.

“Can he leave the territory?” Malia asks.

There is a pinch of fear that Stiles reasons away. “I think I should still be able to leave. Druids who are also Emissaries tie themselves to their territories too and they often travel with their pack. What I did is similar so that shouldn’t be an issue.”

“But did it hurt you, healing the Nemeton?” Derek persists.

Stiles can’t lie. “I don’t think so.”

“You don’t think so?” Scott’s eyes widen and his voice gains an edge. 

“Well, the new trees should self-sustain from the land and because they’re here and woven into the magic of the Pack, it should pull from all of us, from our good intentions towards the land, from our bonds to each other, and from the land itself. It doesn’t feed off my magic alone. I simply created it, gave it purpose and life.” Stiles smiles sheepishly. It sounds bigger when he says it like that. It had seemed a simple thing when he was alone in his own headspace.

Scott smiles then, open and free. “I knew you’d be able to do it. I’m glad you didn’t listen to Deaton.”

Derek is still watching him with steady hazel eyes. “Do you think you can make it all the way back to the house?”

Stiles winks at Derek. “Offering to carry me, big guy?”

Derek rolls his eyes and Stiles laughs. “Not unless you’re bleeding out.”

“I like my blood in my body where it belongs. I think I’ll be fine.” Stiles stands and stretches. “I feel pretty awesome actually.” He does feel good, energized in a way he hasn’t felt in, well, ever. Sitting and reaching out to the Preserve and the Pack refueled him in a way some electrolytes couldn’t. “Who’s cooking dinner? I’m starving.”


	5. Chapter 5

Everyone takes Stiles’s new tattoos and position in the Pack in stride, everyone except Derek and Deaton. Derek can’t shake the slick anxiety over the lack of knowledge he has over just what changes the magic had made to Stiles and fear of what Stiles may make of the mess of emotions Derek holds for Stiles now that Stiles has more awareness of him. Deaton’s weight of disapproval is palpable when he visits the Pack house the next day. 

“You should not have done that alone. Anything could have happened.” Deaton’s voice is even, the volume conversational.

“But I’m fine,” Stiles insists.

“You could have bound yourself and your magic to the trees and been unable to move until they drained you dry.” Deaton leans into Stiles’s space.

“But I made sure the spell didn’t do that.” Stiles crosses his arms and glares at the vet.

Derek crowds between them, fear prickling over him. “Wait, you knew that was a possibility?” Of all the stupid things Stiles has done. He never thinks of himself, just fixing the problem. Derek doesn't know enough about magic.  _ One of these days Stiles is going to do something I can’t rescue him from. _ The knowledge is like a knife of ice in his gut. 

Stiles straightens up and drops his hands into fists by his side. “I knew it was a possibility so I planned around it so it wouldn’t happen. I’m not an idiot.”

“Could’ve fooled me,” Derek mutters.

“I know what I’m doing.” Stiles jabs Derek in the chest, Deaton forgotten.

Derek loves this version of Stiles, defiant and standing toe to toe with him, ready for a fight. Derek takes a deep breath through his nose and it’s a mistake because all he smells is Stiles in righteous anger mode, warm green and spicy. Lust, familiar and sure, uncurls in Derek and he wonders what he is doing resisting Stiles the way he is. His reasons are starting to feel flimsy, like cardboard left out in the rain. 

“I’m glad you didn’t hurt yourself,” is what Derek ends up saying.

The sincerity of his words deflate the anger coming from Stiles. The other man’s shoulders drop and his hands unclench. “Well, I, thanks I think.”

Deaton clears his throat. “It remains that you should not have attempted something of that nature without first letting someone know what you were doing. What if you’d been unable to move from the Nemeton and no one knew where to look for you? In the future, I suggest that you let Derek or one of the Pack know what shenanigans you are getting yourself into.”

Stiles leans to peer around Derek. “But the best shenanigans are the  _ unplanned _ ones.”

“Mr. Stilinski, the fact that you’re still alive at all, after all the things you’ve gotten yourself into, is a sure sign that you are touched with luck. You should be dead many times over.” Deaton squeezes the bridge of his nose with his fingers. “I’d like to look at the trees you planted, if you would be so kind as to show me.”

Stiles smiles and it pulls at something in Derek. “Yeah, sure. Let me grab my bag and get my shoes.”

“Mr. Hale will you be accompanying us?” Deaton asks as if Derek had barely let Stiles out of his sight since yesterday, even making a questionable excuse to sleep at the main house last night.

“I will.”

Deaton is suitably impressed with the work Stiles built from what was left of the Nemeton. He gives Stiles some speculative looks and an assessing gaze, but says nothing until they are almost back to the house.

Deaton stops Stiles with a hand on his arm. “Stiles, you’re more powerful at this age than I thought possible. I knew you had potential, I’ve always known your spark was strong. It’s why the Nogitsune chose you, but I didn't think you’d come so far so quickly and mostly on our own. I have some people I’d like you to get in contact with that I think may be able to help you further develop your skills. I’d also like you to reach out to some earth witches I know. I think your magic is compatible with some of their skills.”

“What happened to me having to be an Emissary and not just a druid?” Stiles isn’t being confrontational. It’s a valid question that Stiles has struggled with for over a year. Derek has shared many late discussions on the rooftop porch as Stiles grappled with his choices.

Deaton looks over Stiles’s shoulder at Derek before meeting the other man’s gaze. “I may have been wrong to insist in that situation.”

Stiles nods sagely and for a moment Derek thinks Stiles is actually going to choose the high road. Then Stiles starts dancing, twirling around the yard, waving his arms, and shaking his hips. Derek bites back the laughter that escapes his mouth.

“Deaton said I was right and He. Was. Wrong.” Stiles emphasizes each word with a hip thrust and Derek does let his laugh loose then.

“You’re ridiculous,” Derek says, laughing harder.

“But I am  _ right _ .” Stiles is still dancing.

Deaton sighs. “I’m glad you’re enjoying this moment. It won’t come again soon. Goodbye, Stiles. Derek.” Deaton gets into his car and drives away. Stiles collapses into the grass and chuckles.

“Worth it.” Stiles is taking great heaving breaths, mouth spread wide in a grin.

Derek stands over him. Stiles is flushed, his skin pink with exertion and his copper eyes shining with mirth, and he’s the most gorgeous thing Derek has ever seen. He’s so screwed. He’s never going to get over Stiles Stilinski and Derek thinks he may need to stop trying. Derek sits down in the grass next to Stiles then lays down so his right side is flush against Stiles.

“Could you have been seriously hurt, like Deaton said?” Derek asks.

“It was a possibility, but, like I said, I planned around it.” Stiles’s voice still holds the edge of laughter. 

Derek does not want to imagine the world without Stiles in it somewhere, being happy and laughing in the grass. “Deaton was right about one thing though.”

“What?”

“You should have at least told someone what you were doing or where you’d be. I went looking for you because I had a feeling I should, but what if I hadn’t gone looking and you needed help. It would have taken us some time to find you.”

Stiles’s hand is warm when it wraps firmly around Derek’s wrist. “I know you were worried. I’m sorry.”

Derek nods even though Stiles can’t see it. “Good. No more voodoo without telling someone.”

“First off. The official term is vodun. Secondly, I’m a druid, not a vodun priest.” Stiles chuckles at his own joke. “It feels right, the druid thing. Emissary always rubbed me the wrong way, felt too confining, like I couldn’t protect you, and the Pack, that way. This feels like what I’m supposed to do.”

Derek’s chest feels tight. “I’m glad.”

“I can feel it. The Preserve, the Pack, everything. It’s heady, overwhelming, but I’m learning to compartmentalize it, break it down into the sum of its parts and only focus on parts of it or none at all. It’ll take some time.”

“You have all the time in the world.” Derek turns his head and breathes in Stiles, then looks back up at the sky. They stay that way for a long time, sides touching, occasionally talking—wolf and druid together.

All week, Derek thinks about laying with Stiles in the grass and he wonders if he has made a mistake concerning Stiles, wonders if he should take a chance on the things he never dared to think could happen. Sunday rolls around again and the house is bursting with the pack. The sounds of people everywhere, in all corners of the house, laughing and talking, is a warm blanket and everyone revels in being together. 

Melissa is holding court in the kitchen, mixing masa into tamale dough. Chris and Parrish are mixing different bowls of fillings, Em and Lydia are making mango salsa and guacamole, Malia is making pitchers of margaritas, and everyone else is waiting for instructions.

Melissa puts her mixing bowl in the middle of the island. “Scott, call the rest of them.”

Scott kisses his mom on the cheek. “Momma McCall says it’s time. Get your asses in the kitchen.”

“That’s not exactly what I said,” Melissa mutters.

Malia hands Melissa a drink. “Here. Have a margarita and try to forget what a terrible son you have.”

Melissa wraps her arm around Malia’s waist. “At least he was smart enough to marry you.”

“Damn right.” Scott kisses Malia and they laugh.

This is what Derek missed all those years after the fire. The banter of family and people who know each other’s secrets and love you regardless of them. Love that comes easy even when it’s hard won and fought for. Stiles is standing next to Sophia and Liam. The three of them are laughing at something Theo is doing and all is right in Derek’s world.

Tamale making is a group effort, full of laughter, drinking, and arguing over the best fillings. The stack of tamales grows, separated by filling type to be cooked in batches in the huge steam pots already sitting on the stove. With all the hands, the work is finished in about thirty minutes and the first batch goes in. More drinks are poured and everyone spills out onto the front porch.

Stiles bounds off the porch steps. “Who wants to play zombie tag?”

Everyone but Melissa, Chris, Noah, and Derek agree to play the first round and the game starts. Stiles is It first. He catches Isaac with a feint and Isaac shifts from a run to shuffle as he tries to tag someone else to turn them into a zombie. The game turns ruthless once Malia becomes a zombie because she gets the other zombies to team up and chase down Theo. Stiles cheats and makes the dirt shift a bit under Theo’s feet and he falls face first into the grass as the zombies pile on top of him. Stiles cackles with glee and Derek can’t take his eyes off Stiles, glowing with laughter and flushed with exertion.

Noah sinks into the chair next to Derek. “I used to want him to leave Beacon Hills, but I know now that he’d never be happier anywhere else but here.”

Derek watches the game as another round starts up.

Noah isn’t looking at the game, he’s looking at Derek. “He’d never be happy anywhere without you.”

Derek swivels his head, acutely aware that most of the people present can hear this conversation if they choose to listen. He clenches his teeth together.

“I’m really proud of you, son. I was worried there for a spell, but you’ve done a good job with these kids.” Noah squeezes Derek’s shoulder and the moment feels weightier than a simple touch.

“Thank you. I’m not the alpha though, not anymore.” Derek’s voice is strained.

Noah chuckles. “Derek, if you think I don’t know Scott looks up to you and seeks your advice in most things, then I’m the world’s worst detective.”

Derek doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t know what to say.

Noah drops his voice a bit, aware that they are on the porch not nearly far enough from everyone else. “Along those lines. I know where your feelings lie.” Noah looks pointedly at Stiles, who takes a vaulting leap around Malia who is It, only to me caught by Theo who is currently a zombie. “I’m not sure what’s holding you back, but I wish it wouldn’t.”

Derek stares at Noah, mouth dry and heart hammering. This is not happening to him right now, on an ordinary Sunday pack dinner. Noah is exposing every wish he’s never given oxygen like it’s the easiest thing to set aside over thirty years of relationship avoidance. 

“Dinner’s ready.” Chris’s proclamation from the open doorway breaks the moment and everyone in the yard pours into the house. 

Stiles bounces in front of Noah and Derek, who are still sitting. “I almost won that round. Did you see me take down Malia?” His grin rubs against all the raw parts Noah exposed and twists something in Derek.

Noah laughs. “Stiles, no one would ever call you graceful, but you were holding your own.”

“Red, get your ass in here and fix this queso. Isaac messed it up.” Cora yells from inside the house.

“Hey, how was I supposed to know it needed the other kind of tomatoes?” Isaac’s whine is audible even to the human ears on the porch.

Stiles bows. “My lady has summoned me.”

Stiles leaves and Noah stops Derek from getting up with a hand on his arm. “He thinks you hung the moon and I think you feel the same way about him. I was hoping you two would figure things out, but I’ve decided to meddle. This is the last I’m going to say about it though. You two would be good for each other. C’mon, if we wait much longer, there won’t be any carnitas ones left.”

Derek and Noah are the last ones through the line, but Melissa set aside some carnitas tamales for Noah and he takes them and gives her a kiss on the cheek. Sophia is sitting next to Stiles, talking closely in his ear, but his right side is free and Derek settles in, elbows bumping up happily with Stiles’s as they unroll their tamales and eat. It’s loud and there’s a lot of yelling across the table, but it’s family and it’s home.

After dinner, Stiles volunteers to do dishes and Sophia volunteers to help. Derek is about to say something, when Scott’s phone buzzes. He checks the text and frowns.

“Derek, would you and Chris please join me in the study?”

Derek knows there’s something going on, the rest of the pack knows it too, but everyone goes about the business of cleaning up, knowing they’ll be told what’s going on soon enough. There are few secrets amongst the pack. Stiles raises an eyebrow at Derek before he leaves the room. Derek shrugs back in answer and takes one last look at Stiles before following Chris and Scott down the hall.

Derek closes the door and Scott says, “Sophia’s Alpha contacted me. Her message didn’t sound too happy so I thought I’d better call her back as soon as possible. I wanted witnesses.”

The study is not set up like a typical study. There is the prerequisite wood paneling, but it’s washed white and bright instead of dark, and instead of a desk, there’s a round conference table that dominates most of the room. In front of the large paneled windows, a set of high backed armchairs for more intimate conversations sit angled toward each other. Like the bedrooms, this room is soundproof. 

For this, they all remain standing. 

“Why didn’t you invite Stiles?” Derek asks.

Scott gives him a look. “Part of the reason she’s probably not happy is because Stiles sent most of her foxes limping home when they came into our territory. I don’t know if you noticed, but Stiles doesn’t always keep his temper in check when the Pack is threatened.”

Derek takes a step towards his Alpha. “Stiles did what he did to defend Sophia.”

Scott flashes red eyes at Derek and Derek backs off. “I wasn’t saying it because I was mad. I’m proud of him. I’d take him over another were any day. However, I’d like to solve this without starting another war and Stiles doesn’t always control his mouth.”

“Sorry, Alpha.” Derek keeps his eyes down.

Scott chuckles at him, the bastard. “It’s okay, but don’t think I’m going to let that little display of loyalty go.”

Derek sighs and Scott slaps him on the back. “Don’t worry. I won’t tell Stiles you tried to defend his honor.”

“Just call Alpha Benson already.” Derek crosses his arms and grumbles.

Scott places his phone on the round table, puts it on speaker, and presses send. It only rings twice before a woman with an alto voice answers.

“Alpha McCall. You are quicker than I anticipated, but then, there are few things about your pack that I did anticipate.” The voice tries to make the words friendly, but fails.

Scott looks at Chris and Derek. “You should know, Alpha Benson, that this conversation is on speaker phone. I have my second, Derek Hale, and another pack member, Chris Argent, in the room with me as witnesses.”

“Ah yes, the Hale heir and the hunter. I had heard the rumors of course, but one never knows what to believe these days.”

Derek rolls his eyes. 

Scott asks, “To what do I owe this pleasure?”

The voice on the other ends hardens. “You sent my mate back with broken bones that took two days to heal. He said a human with a magic bat, of all things, did it to him. You also wounded all of the other people I sent.”

“Before you go any farther, I would like to let you know that, with or without your consent, your people came into our territory. They did not ask permission to be here once they made their presence known and they threatened both someone in our protection and the members of the Pack who were present. My Pack was well within their rights to retaliate under the circumstances.” 

A surge of pride for the Alpha Scott has become fills Derek as he listens to the other man. Scott has come so far in the last few years.

Alpha Benson growls on the other end of the phone. “I want what’s mine returned to me.”

Scott growls and his eyes flash. “That’s going to be a problem. In this Pack, we think that people are not things to be owned and made to do things against their will. Sophia Benson has requested and been granted sanctuary, a privilege that is respected by most packs. She will not be returned to you like a possession nor will she return to you unless she does so without coercion and of her own free will.”

The voice on the other end of the line is cold and shaking. “You’re making a mistake, Scott McCall. You and your pack of misfits have bitten off more than they can chew.”

“I look forward to our next chat. If you come into my territory or threaten mine in any way, it will be seen as a declaration of war.” Scott punches the red circle on the phone and hangs up.

Chris puts his hands on the table and presses his weight onto them. “Well, that went a little worse than I expected.”

Scott pulls out a chair and sits down. “Derek, go get Stiles and bring him in here. We need to talk and he should be here.”

Derek closes the door behind him and pauses to listen before going outside. Noah is supervising Theo and Liam as they build a fire in the fire pit. Stiles is sitting on one of the benches by the fire. Sophia is tucked into his side and Stiles’s head is angled towards her as he listens. They look comfortable together and a coil of something dark and wounded wraps around Derek. His feet are rooted momentarily. He makes himself keep moving forward. He tells himself that the pack is always close to each other, always touching. Sophia has been fitting in remarkably well. There’s no reason why Stiles wouldn’t treat her any different than the other pack members. The rational explanation doesn’t banish the dark feeling in his gut.

Stiles looks up before Derek can say his name. The smile that Stiles gives him is welcoming, happy and the coil releases Derek. Stiles watches him approach and Derek can almost feel the twang of the pack connection between the two of them, knows that Stiles is still testing the limits of his abilities. Stiles must be able to sense something because his smile flattens.

“What’s wrong?” Stiles stands and rests a hand on Sophia’s shoulder, as if he would protect her, and the coil of jealousy is back as easily as it was vanquished moments before. 

Derek swallows. “Scott wants you in the study. Nothing’s wrong yet.”

Stiles nods. To Sophia he says, “I’ll be back in a bit.” As if he owes her an explanation of his movements and Derek’s fingers itch where his claws are threatening to come out.

Stiles walks up to Derek and puts a hand on his arm. “Are you okay? You look frustrated? Mad? I can’t read your eyebrows right, but you feel...” Stiles pauses and Derek can feel the awareness of Stiles as the other man reaches out with his other sense. “...anxious and frustrated.”

Derek heaves a sigh of relief that Stiles didn’t say,  _ choked by jealousy _ . “C’mon. I’ll explain once there are less ears.” Derek is worried, but lets Stiles think it’s about whatever the conversation in the study will be about and not because Derek waited half his life to say something to Stiles and he’s afraid his hesitation has killed his opportunities. 

Scott recounts the conversation for Stiles and, by the end, Stiles’s hands are in fists and his tattoos are glowing faintly. The planes of Stiles’s body, rigid with anger and pent up power, are beautiful. Derek’s hands itch with another need altogether and he has to hold himself in place so he doesn’t reach out to take what he desperately wants.

Stiles’s voice is hard. “Sophia is scared. She doesn’t want to go back and we won’t let her be taken. This isn’t the first alpha to threaten us after we offered sanctuary and she probably won’t be the last.”

Derek takes a step closer to Stiles. The energy flowing off the other man is dancing over Derek’s skin and lust roars to life in Derek, as if now that he’s admitted Stiles might be something he could have, he can’t control where his thoughts go. Scott’s eyes cut to Derek and widen just a bit before his lips quirk up and he looks back at Stiles. 

_ Dammit, that might come back to bite me in the ass _ , Derek thinks.

“Don’t worry. This situation’s no different except that now I have a badass druid.” Scott gives Stiles a fist bump and the two grin like teenagers.

“We still need to prepare in case she makes good on her threats,” Derek says, using the moment to take another step closer to Stiles, like he can’t help doing it.

“I have some ideas.” Chris spreads a map of the Preserve and Beacon Hills on the table.

Stiles rubs his hands together and grins wickedly. “So do I.”

Desire clenches Derek and he is in very deep trouble.


	6. Chapter 6

It’s quiet for a few days and Stiles is able to do some research he’s been working on that has looming deadlines. He makes a decent sum of money doing freelance research for other packs and supernaturals. He also runs a non-supernatural business indexing academic writing and doing literature reviews for research projects. It’s enough to contribute to the pack and set aside some money for himself. Stiles doesn’t need much.

There’s a solid plan in place if the Benson Pack comes calling, but as the days go by and things stay quiet, they all settle into a routine. Sophia is a remarkably good cook and is one of those horrible morning people, so she had taken over making breakfasts and prepping lunches for everyone going to work. Stiles has gotten used to stumbling into the kitchen and seeing her in there, serving the pack and smiling. 

This morning, he smells the bacon before he gets to the second floor and the smell grows the farther down the stairs he goes. By the time he gets to the kitchen, his stomach is growling. Sophia pours him a cup of coffee and slides the cream and sugar towards him. 

“Good morning,” she says.

“It’s too early to tell, but I have to ask, are you trying to seduce me with bacon?”

Sophia laughs but there’s an embarrassed edge to it that Stiles wonders at.

Malia snorts. “Don’t feel too flattered, Soph. Stiles would pledge his undying love to literally anyone who makes him bacon.”

“It’s true,” Theo pipes up. “Making him omelets with bacon is how I finally got Stiles to admit that he liked me just a tiny bit.”

“The smallest speck of like on the planet.” Stiles sips his coffee and hums. “Coffee is the nectar of the gods. I don’t know how humans survived without it.” He looks at Sophia. “So did Theo leave me any bacon?”

Sophia smiles and slides a plate piled high with bacon that is a perfect crispness. “How do you want your eggs?”

“Is there toast?” Stiles asks.

“Yep,” Sophia’s smile is sweet and it warms something in Stiles. With a start he realizes that he likes her smile. He hadn’t really allowed himself to notice before.

Theo, Liam, and Malia burst out laughing. Liam shakes his head. “Told you all it takes is bacon.”

“Toast and over easy. Thank you for cooking,” Stiles makes room for himself at the table

A delightful blush creeps up Sophia’s neck as she turns around and cracks a couple of eggs into the pan. She whistles while she cooks and Stiles watches her. It’s been a long time since he was interested in anyone other than Derek, but maybe it’s time. It’s habit now—even after such a short time— when Stiles reaches out for the thread in his head that is Derek and runs his awareness over it. It’s roots borrow and twist deep into Stiles. Even if he wanted to, Stiles would never be able to remove Derek from his life, but maybe it’s time he face the fact that Derek will never be all that Stiles longs for him to be, never fill the hole that Stiles has long wanted him to fill.

Sorrow, one he knows well, rolls over him and Liam leans into him in silent support. The wolf doesn’t know what’s bothering Stiles, just that something has hurt him. Stiles sips his coffee, feeling the weight of leaving behind his hope in something, anything happening with Derek and he can barely breathe past it. Liam whines a bit and wraps an arm around Stiles.

Stiles takes a breath and leans into Liam. “I’m fine, just considering the meaning of life.”

“It’s forty-two,” Theo deadpans.

Stiles snorts. “I want to hate you but then you say stuff like that.”

“And then you secretly adore me,” Theo gives Stiles his sauciest smile.

“Unfortunately, you are occasionally correct.” Stiles returns the flirtatious grin.

Malia stands up. “I have to get to work. I’ll see all of you later. Sophia, thank you for breakfast.” Malia puts her dirty dishes away then heads upstairs to finish getting ready.

Stiles drinks his coffee and listens to Theo and Liam talk about their current PI cases. Sophia puts a plate with eggs and toast in front of Stiles. When he thanks her, she blushes again and sits down with her own plate of eggs. 

“Scott doesn’t want you alone and I have some research to do. Want to hang out with me in the library?” Stiles dips his toast in the runny yolk of his eggs. The yolk is thick and warm on his tongue.

Sophia nods. “Sure. I need to start looking for a job. I’m thinking of staying in Beacon Hills for a while and I’d like to get a job, contribute to the pack while I’m here.”

Theo fininishes his coffee. “You’re welcome to simply be here. You aren’t required to earn your keep.”

“I know,” Sophia’s eyes sweep down. “But I want to. You’ve all done so much for me.” Her lip trembles a bit and Stiles puts an arm around her shoulder. 

“You do what you feel you need to but the Pack doesn’t expect anyone to earn their place. We all pitch in, but you don’t have to do it for us to like you.” Stiles squeezes her shoulder before going back to his eggs.

Sophia sniffles a little and nods. “Thanks.”

Liam stands. “We have a case we’d like you to look at if you have time. There’s something fishy about it.”

“Sure thing.” Stiles waves them off and he finishes breakfast. 

He cleans the kitchen with Sophia. She asks him questions about the area and he answers, including some good stories about some of the other pack members. She laughs at his jokes and even makes a couple of quips back at him. Her laughter is soft and shy and makes Stiles want to protect her. Sophia is delicate in a way that Malia is not. She’s not as smart as Lydia, but she is witty and Stiles enjoys spending time with her. There isn’t a huge spark or anything, but maybe he doesn’t need that. He’s been carrying a flame for Derek for a long time and it’s never done him any good to be on fire for anyone. A lack of spark with Sophia might be a good thing.

_ At least then I won’t be constantly getting burned.  _ Stiles wishes the decision felt better but instead he feels slightly nauseous.

Sophia sits on the couch, feet stretched out and laptop in her lap. Stiles pulls some books from the shelves and sits at the desk. After about thirty minutes, his body feels tight and anxious and he needs to move. Stiles stands and stretches, but the tingling tightness persists.

“I need to go work on some stuff in the lab. Do you want to tag along or are you ok here?” He sees her hesitation. “The house is warded so no one gets in or out without me knowing. Plus, the Preserve would let me know if anyone was close.”

Sophia is quiet. “I haven’t been alone since I got here. Would it be okay if I said I’d like to stay here and finish these applications?”

Stiles sits down by her on the couch. “Of course. There’s a room off the examination room you were in when you first came into the house. That’s my lab. You can come in if you change your mind, but knock in case I have something nasty out.”

“Nasty?”

Stiles grins and he knows it’s one that scares people. “I don’t just make antidotes. I make poisons, very deadly ones.”

Sophia’s eyes are large in her face as she nods. “I’ll stay here.”

Stiles is a little disappointed. He was hoping for, he didn’t know what. A challenge? Interest? That smile made most people uncomfortable but it made Derek vibrate with something Stiles could never place his finger over. He’d been hoping to see the same interest in Sophia’s face. Bitterness is like bile in the back of his throat as Stiles turns to leave the room.

“I tend to lose track of time. Knock when it’s time for lunch.” Stiles doesn’t wait for a response.

The house is quiet during the day. Stiles both loves and hates this. The walls hold the echo of the pack and he runs his hands along the smooth wall that leads to the back room. He lets those echoes fill in the rips in his emotions, stitching them up, crudely to be sure, but closing the wounds until he can feel gratitude for what he does have. A home. A pack. A purpose. His own power. It’s enough. For now. 

The small back room, hidden behind a door in the examination room, used to be a back mud and storage room before they converted it to Stiles’s specifications. It has its own ventilation system with a venting hood over the workbench. Stiles turns on the lights and takes a deep breath. The air holds the scent of cleaner and herbs. Stiles grips the end of the black topped table and puts his emotions away, focusing on the task at hand.

Stiles opens the package that came yesterday and pulls out three vacuum sealed plastic bags: one holds dried flowers of various colors, one holds tear dropped shaped pods, and the other holds stems and leaves in it. All the various plant parts are from the foxglove plant, highly toxic to animals and humans. Stiles thinks using it against the werefoxes has a kind of poetry to it that he couldn’t resist. Before he can use it though, he needs to distill the parts of it into usable substances. 

He gets the burners going and has water boiling with some of the flowers in it, another with some of the leaves, and one with slices of one of the stems. While those boil and reduce down, Stiles extracts the seeds from the pods. They are tiny, round seeds, the size and shape of poppy seeds, and he collects them in a bowl, then transfers them to seed jars. He takes a teaspoon of the seeds and grinds them into a fine power. He tries adding various liquids to it until he finds a viscosity that will work on weapons.

Three short raps on the door startle Stiles. He flips the switch to vent the room in case the vent hood wasn’t enough. “Just a minute.”

When he’s satisfied he’s purged the room, he takes off his gloves and opens the door to find Derek on the other side. “I thought you were Sophia.”

Something Stiles can’t place runs over Derek’s face before he schools it. “She’s making lunch and sent me to come get you.”

On cue, Stiles stomach growls. “What time is it?”

“Almost one.”

“Hold on. Let me turn the burners off.” Stiles darts back to the table and turns off the burners. All the flasks now hold a slightly thick liquid. Once they are cool, he’ll transfer them into vials for safekeeping. He yanks off his lab apron and hangs it on the hook by the door.

“What’re you working on today?”

Stiles is pleased with his results so far and he can’t help the smile, the one with deadly intent that flows over his face. “Foxglove poisons. It’s deadly to most life forms.”

And there it is. The look that Stiles had wanted to see on Sophia’s face, but expects on Derek’s. It’s a heady mixture of pride, knowing, and agreement with a hint of desire. The last part is what startles Stiles a bit. It’s always been there, but Stiles was never sure of it. He still isn’t because Derek never gives any indication that he harbors any of those kinds of feelings for Stiles and Stiles wishes for the span of a heartbeat that things were different.

Wishes aren’t enough. Wishes don’t make things true no matter how much Stiles wants them to be. Derek and Stiles have found an equilibrium and it doesn’t include anything that approaches the soul deep yearning Stiles can’t exorcise.


	7. Chapter 7

Sophia is getting restless stuck in the house and the Preserve, so the next day, Stiles takes her into town. They swing into Caffeine Dreams and pick up a gallon container of coffee and muffins To Go for the station. Sophia carries the coffee and Stiles grabs the boxes of muffins when they get to the police station. 

Julie smiles at them from the front desk. Her hair is curled and styled perfectly in the style older ladies prefer. “Good morning, Stiles. I haven’t seen you in a few days. Who’s your new friend?” 

Stiles smiles and introduces Julie to Sophia. “Julie here has known me since I was in diapers, therefore I urge you to never believe anything she has to say that puts me in a bad light.”

Julie laughs and pats him on the arm. “I’ve never said a disparaging word about you in my life. You know very well, you’re my favorite.”

“And that, beautiful woman, is why I’ve brought you your favorite blueberry crumble muffin.” Stiles produces the muffin with a flourish. 

Julie kisses him on the cheek and looks at Sophia. “This ones a keeper, honey. Trust me.”

Sophia colors up and coughs. Stiles knows better than to correct Julie. It would only throw fuel on the fire. Parrish is approaching from his desk, exactly the distraction Stiles needs.

“Did you bring enough to share?” Parrish peers into the box and pulls out a chocolate chip muffin. “I know it’s more like dessert, but I love these.” Parrish’s smile is all boyish charm and Stiles can see Sophia melt a little. He can’t blame her. Parrish is All American Man handsome. 

“I’ll show you where to put the coffee,” he says to Sophia.

Stiles turns around and heads towards his Dad’s office. “I’m going to try to get Dad to choose the bran and banana muffin.”

Julie snorts. “Good luck with that, son.”

Stiles winks at her. “I have my ways.”

Noah looks up as Stiles saunters through the door. 

“To what do I owe this surprise? And muffins?” Noah reaches for the chocolate chip one. 

“Dad.” Stiles glares him down.

“Fine, what if I choose the apple one?” Noah looks hopeful.

Stiles sighs. “Fine.”

Noah smiles in triumph and takes the apple oat muffin. “What are you up to today?” 

“Sophia was bored and restless so I suggested a trip to town. We’re going to eat our muffins and drink our coffee in the park.”

Noah chews his muffin and watches Stiles for so long Stiles asks, “What? Why are you looking at me like that?”

Noah shakes his head. “No reason.”

“Dad.”

“Fine, Sophia seems to like you but I shouldn’t have to remind you that she’s in a dangerous position and probably feeling vulnerable. You wouldn’t want to take advantage of that.”

“Oh my gods, Dad. Stop. Nothing is happening.” His dad is right. He’s not even sure if he wants anything to happen but right now is not the time to be entertaining those kinds of thoughts. How did his lack of a love life become so bleak for, apparently, eternity. 

Noah sighs. “Now you look completely dejected. Do you like her that much?”

Stiles shakes his head. “No, it’s… complicated.”

Noah makes a noise in his throat.

“This has nothing to do with Derek,” Stiles protests.

Noah laughs. “I didn’t mention him at all.”

Stiles slumps down in his chair then gets up. Frustrated and angry with himself.  _ Why can’t I keep my mouth shut? _

“Will I see you at dinner tonight?” Noah asks Stiles’s back. They have a standing dinner date on Wednesdays. It is the one day a week Stiles doesn’t harp on his dad about his diet.

Stiles turns back around. “Yeah, I’ll see you at the diner at 6.”

Stiles drives the two blocks to the park and parks the Jeep by a bench that sits adjacent to a pond. It’s a nice spot with towering pines and trees whose leaves are a riot of reds, golds, and yellows. Sophia and Stiles sit side by side, sipping coffee and eating their muffins in silence for a while.

Stiles wipes the crumbs from his fingers. “Have you given any thought to if you want to be relocated to another pack or not.”

Sophia toys with the rim of her cup. “I think I want to stay for a bit. I’m glad you suggested a job. I know that it might be tricky until things are settled with my old pack for me to go anywhere alone, but I figured we could work it out.”

“If nothing else, you could work with Theo and Liam at their PI office. They are hopeless in the office. It’s a good thing they make up for that with great investigator instincts. Dad was really upset for a while that they didn’t want to be cops, but then he saw how good they were at working around the system and now he uses them occasionally for off the books stuff.”

“Supernatural stuff?”

“Yep. It works out best for everyone if we keep as many people as possible from knowing that all their nightmares are real.”

“I thought werewolves got outed in Beacon Hills years ago.” There is a question there.

Stiles nods. “They did, but the people that are still here are keeping the secret and Beacon Hills is always growing so more people moving in means more people who don’t know anything about the supernatural.”

“Seems smart.”

“Tell me about what you did before. You said you worked in an engineering office in Salt Lake.” 

Stiles watches Sophia as she talks and admits to himself that he likes spending time with her, but it’s nothing deep or soul moving, unfortunately. His life would be much less complicated if he did feel that way about her. 

Something worms its way into his consciousness, an awareness that something doesn’t belong. Stiles puts a hand on Sophia’s arm and she stops telling him about a building project that had disturbed a nest of ghouls. Stiles puts a finger over his lips and stands up. His bat is in the back seat of the Jeep.

Stiles opens his other senses, throwing his power out like a net to see what he reels in. He steps towards the door of the Jeep and opens it, all the while looking and scanning. As his fingers clench around the bat, he finds them. Four weres, in the trees to their left. Not moving closer, but definitely watching them with malicious intent and definitely not Pack.

“Sophia, get in the Jeep and text Scott and Derek. Tell them we’re in the city park by the pond. Tell them to get their asses in gear. You can join this fight if you want after you send the text or stay in the Jeep.” 

Stiles twirls the bat and doesn’t look to make sure Sophia does what he asks, but takes slow measured steps towards the trees.

“I know you can hear me,” he says in a calm voice. “You don’t have permission to be here and I’m pretty sure I told your packmates who came without so much as a by-your-leave that they’d regret a repeat of that offense. I also know your Alpha was told not to send any more spies.” Stiles centers himself and pulls on his power, it’s vibrant green in his mind and he wraps it around himself, casting it outwards towards the enemies in the trees. He can feel them, crouching where they don’t belong. His tattoos are glowing bright green.

Stiles keeps walking towards the trees, his steps unwavering. “I’ve always thought fox hunts were a bit cruel, but I’m beginning to see the appeal.”

There’s movement and three men and one woman step out of the trees. Two of the men are wider than Stiles in the shoulders but about as tall. The woman is the tallest of all of them and lean like a runner. The fourth is a man, two inches shorter than Stiles but wider than all of the others. He looks like he spends every moment he’s not asleep in the gym. Stiles knows he’s meant to be intimidated by this show of muscle.

Stiles laughs, a gleeful kind of mirth that, coupled with the violence in his eyes, has the four weres faltering and looking at each other. “I didn’t really think your alpha was stupid enough to send four thugs. Now, some magic or something fancy, that might cause a problem, but four fangs and claws? I could beat you four with my eyes closed.”

Stiles is lying. He’ll definitely need his eyes for this, but he knows he can beat them. He has some new tricks up his sleeve, thanks to his recent bonding with the Preserve, and this is his first opportunity to try them out. Stiles hums to himself and calls on his power. The vines on his arms glow brighter and there is a slight burn as they move over his arms.

“Holy shit,” the short man mutters.

Stiles chuckles. “You have no idea.” Vines break the ground at the weres’ feet and wrap around their legs and up, farther and farther until each were is secured to their waist.

One of the men yells, “What the fuck. Stephen said this guy had a bat, not some crazy voodoo.”

“Look, I keep telling people. It’s not voodoo, it’s vundo and that’s not what this is.” Stiles takes a few more steps forward. He hears the Jeep door slam and then Sophia runs up to stand beside him.

The tall woman produces a knife from somewhere and starts cutting the vines. “Sophia, come back to the Pack where you belong,” she says as she hacks at the vine on her ankle.

Sophia starts to stand behind Stiles then moves to his left like they practiced. “I’m never going back with you. Alyssa almost killed me.”

“Liar,” spits the short man. “Alpha Benson would never do that. She loves all of us.”

Stiles twirls his bat, the woman is almost free and he wants to hit something. “When Sophia found us she was almost dead from mistletoe poisoning. Small doses over a long period of time. It’s a good thing she left when she did or she would be dead.”

The woman cuts the last vine and rushes Stiles. He swings his bat and she grabs the end. Her palm starts steaming as she makes contact and she drops it with a curse. Sophia uses the distraction to reach in and rake her claws across the woman’s torso. The woman screeches in fury and lunges at Sophia. 

Like they trained, Sophia jumps back and gives Stiles room to swing again. Stiles makes contact this time, right into the woman’s temple and she goes down in a crumpled heap. Stiles doesn’t have time to savor the victory.

“Stiles,” Sophia yells at him but it’s too late.

A weight slams into him from behind and he is ground into the dirt by a very angry, very heavy were in his beta form. Pain slices through Stiles as the man digs claws into his shoulders. If Stiles doesn’t get him off soon, those claws are going to get a little too close to his heart. Stiles takes a deep breath and pulls all of his power in, winding it like a ball, then imagining it on fire. He sends a prayer to the gods, whichever one is listening, and imagines the air around him exploding.

The heat is intense, licking around him and making his skin tight, but it doesn’t burn him. The man holding him down however screams, high pitched and full of agony as the flames engulf him. The moment his mouth opens the flame goes into his open maw and rushes through his body, choking off his next scream. Stiles flips over and gains his feet, panting and twirling until he can see what’s left to fight. 

The last two men are still held by the vines, which are starting to wrap around their throats. Out of the corner of his eye, Stiles sees Derek’s truck and Scott’s SUV screech into the parking area of the park. Derek and Scott fling themselves out of their cars at a full run.

Stiles smiles and walks up to the men who shrink back from him. The smell of burned meat is heavy in the air. His shoulders are on fire, but he ignores it. There will be time to assess the damage later. “Looks like back-up is here. Too bad I don’t need it.”

Scott and Derek slide to a halt on either side of Stiles. “Thanks for coming after I did all the hard stuff.”

Scott looks around and shrugs, a gleam in his eye. “Looks like you have everything under control. Why did you have Sophia call us?”

Derek looks like he’s ready to rip someone’s arms off. The men cower further. Lucky for them, Stiles knows it's him that Derek is mad at for handling this alone. 

“I was hoping to save some fun for you, but I think this one is sufficiently scared. It looks like he wet his pants.” Stiles winks at the man on the right.

Scott steps into the man’s space until their noses are almost touching. “Last time your pack came here without an invitation, we sent them home wounded. This time, you’re taking at least one body back. I told your Alpha she had to ask permission before coming onto our territory again. If I see hair or tail of any of you again without a formal request, we will kill first and send you home in pieces. Do you understand?”

Both men nod. The woman on the ground moans and Sophia kicks her in the head.

“Now,” Derek’s voice is low and skates over Stiles’s magic sensitive skin. “Stiles, let these two idiots go so they can take their garbage home to their Alpha.”

Stiles sighs. He can feel the blood dripping down his back and making his shirt stick to his skin. “Fine, but,” he steps in close, letting his eyes glow, “I’m only letting you go because they asked me to.”

The men pale and drop to their knees when the vines release them. One of the vines reaches out to Stiles and caresses his leg before disappearing into the ground. It looks creepy as hell and Stiles grins at Derek who continues to emit a low level growl the entire time. The men give the three of them a wide berth. One of them goes to pick up the woman and the other stares down at what was left of their friend. The magic fire had been so hot, he was almost reduced to ash already.

“I have a jar. Hold on.” Stiles fishes around in the bag he’d left in a heap by the park bench. He always keeps extra bottles and bags with him. He pulls out an empty mason jar and scoops some of the still hot ashes into the jar with the lid. The glass is hot so Stiles tosses it between his two hands before handing it to one of the weres. 

“Tell your Alpha we won’t send anyone home alive next time. You may leave this territory, but don’t stop until you reach our border.” Scott flashes red eyes at them and they both roll their shoulders forward and bare their necks as they back away slowly.

Scott, Stiles, and Derek stand shoulder to shoulder until the car is out of sight. Stiles slumps into Derek, whose arm goes around him a second before he starts yelling.

“What were you thinking taking them on alone? You could’ve been killed.” Derek’s voice drips anger but his arm around Stiles is gentle.

“I didn’t have time to stand down, besides they were here to case the Pack. I gave them a show.” Stiles flashes his eyes and smiles but each breath is starting to hurt and he groans. 

Derek snakes his hand under Stiles’s wet shirt and presses his palm to Stiles’s skin. The pain eases and Stiles leans into Derek. “Thanks. It hurts like a son of a bitch.” 

“I’ll call Cora and have her meet us at the house. Mom will cover for her. I think you’re going to need stitches.” Scott is dialing on his phone. “Then I’m going to follow those idiots and make sure they get out of town.”

Sophia launches herself at Stiles and she squeezes him, causing the pain to bloom again over his back. “You saved my life, again.”

Stiles pats her back then eases her off him. “All in a day’s work.”

Derek hands Sophia the keys to his truck. “Can you drive my truck and follow Scott in case anything else goes sideways?”

She looks from Stiles to Derek. “I’d rather stay with Stiles.”

Derek’s eyebrows drop. “Can you drive a stick shift?”

“No,” Sophia pouts.

“Then you’re driving the truck.” Derek shifts his hold on Stiles so that his palm is pressed against the small of Stiles’s back, taking his pain in a slow and steady thrum.

Sophia gives Stiles a lingering look, then bounds away to the truck. Stiles stores away the interaction to mull over later, for now he just wants to get home. Derek puts him facedown in the back seat of the Jeep. It’s uncomfortable, but not as painful as sitting in the front would have been. Plus, Stiles doesn't want to get blood all over his seats. It’s a bitch to clean out—he knows from experience.

“I can feel your disapproval from here.” Stiles attempts to make conversation as Derek drives. 

It’s not hyperbole. Stiles can feel Derek in his head, can sense the frustration and disapproval under the cover of fear. There’s something else too and Stiles digs towards that thread until he can reach it. It curls, angry and vibrant. Jealousy, but that can’t be right. Stiles’s back is starting to throb again and his head is muddled so he knows he’s made a mistake. There’s no planet in the universe where Derek Hale would ever be jealous of someone hanging on Stiles Stilinski.

Stiles is hurt enough and has lost just enough blood to let himself wallow in that thought. He presses on it like a bruise. The wards caress over him as they pass into the Preserve and Stiles acknowledges them with a ping then goes back to mulling over the time he’s wasted on Derek Hale. By the time Derek parks the Jeep, Stiles’s shoulders are on fire again and he is pissed. At Derek. At himself. At everything. 

As soon as the engine is off, Stiles scrambles out of the passenger side of the Jeep and stalks towards the house.

“Stiles, what the hell are you doing?” Derek jogs to catch up with him. “Let me help you.”

Stiles is vibrating with anger. “I’m fine.”

“You’re not fine.”

Stiles opens his mouth to protest and sways on his feet as he reaches for the doorknob. Derek’s hands are on him in an instant, holding him up carefully to avoid his hurt shoulders. The anger drains out of Stiles. It isn’t fair to make Derek the focal point of something that rests entirely on Stiles’s shoulders. Stiles shakes as his adrenaline crashes and self-pity and pain crash over him.

“I’m sorry,” Stiles whispers and clings to Derek as the other man opens the door. 

“Christ, Stiles how much blood have you lost?” Derek half carries, half drags Stiles into the back room, helps him get up on the exam table, and takes the bloody shirt off Stiles with a wet squelching noise. “I’m going to get some water and start cleaning these. Anything else I need?”

“There’s some hydrogen peroxide in the first aid cabinet. No telling how clean their claws were so some of that would be great. I’d like to avoid dying by nasty infection.” Stiles puts his head on the sheet covering the table. He swallows down tears.

Derek moves to stand beside Stiles and trails his fingers down Stiles’s temple and through his hair, resting his hand on the back of Stiles’s head. “I’d like to avoid you dying at all.” Derek’s voice drops and Stiles’s gut clenches at the sensation of the sound over his skin.

Derek eases some of the pain and then starts to clean Stiles’s back. The water is warm and Stiles closes his eyes and lets Derek take care of him. The wards ping when Cora comes home, driving faster than she should. She bursts into the door and skids to a halt in the doorway.

“I don’t know what Scott told you, but I’m not dying. Just might need some stitches.” Stiles can’t turn his head enough to see her.

“Red, what did you do?” Her small, soft hands ghost over his back.

“The usual, slaying invading forces and saving damsels in distress,” Stiles quips, earning a snort from Derek.

Cora washes her hands, then puts on gloves, and starts prodding at the holes in Stiles’s back. Despite the werewolf pain relievers, there are pricks of pain every time she presses into his skin. “The good news is that it looks like the claws went in and stayed in. They didn’t tear or rip down much. You should only need some glue and some butterfly strips if you promise to take it easy.”

Derek hands Cora the hydrogen peroxide and she gets to work. Derek hovers, handing her things she needs and laying his hand on Stiles. The warm comfort of Derek’s hand spreads from that contact and Stiles allows himself to be wrapped in the feeling of comfort while Cora patches him up. He puts his forehead facedown, pillowed on his arms to hide his neediness.

There is a rap on the door. Without opening it, Derek says, “Cora is almost done, then you can come in.”

“Scott?” Stiles asks.

“And Sophia,” Derek replies, his voice dropping.

Cora tapes some bandages over the wounds and slaps Stiles on the ass. “You’re good to go.”

“Your bedside manner leaves something to be desired.” Stiles shifts and sits up. Derek and Cora both watch him, ready to catch him if needed.

Cora smiles at him. “Don’t complain. I know you like it saucy.”

“Stop flirting with me. It’s been long enough I might take you up on it.” Stiles winks at her.

Cora sticks her tongue out at Stiles. “Gross.”

“Disgusting.” Stiles nods in agreement.

Cora and Stiles grin at each other and start laughing. “Ow, ow that hurts,” Stiles says in between bouts of laughter.

Derek rolls his eyes. “You two are idiots.”

Cora puts a hand on Stiles’s knee. “I mean it about taking it easy. No training, no getting into fights with foxes or anything else, and try to sleep on your stomach for a week. Have someone change the bandages tonight before you go to bed. I’ll do it if you like, but anyone can do it for you.”

Stiles opens his arms and Cora goes into them. “Thanks for taking care of me.” He rubs his face in her hair.

Cora moves her face into Stiles’s neck and huffs out a breath. Stiles meets Derek’s eyes over Cora’s head. The other man’s eyes are pools of green and blue, soft and full of longing. Stiles waves a hand at him and Derek crowds into the two of them, running his hands over them both. Stiles sighs and allows the feelings of pack and home to ease the low thrum of pain in his back. The three of them stay curled around each other for a long time. Stiles because he knows the wolves need to be reassured that he’s okay and the wolves because they were worried about Stiles.

“Scott is pacing outside the door,” Derek says, tightening his hold on Stiles before releasing him.

“Guess we better see him before he tries to break through the door.” Stiles slides off the table and looks around at the supplies and bandage wrappers on the counter.

Cora nods her head towards the door. “You two go on. I’ll clean up in here.” 

Stiles opens the door to his exam room and Sophia flings herself at him. Stiles reacts a moment too late and would have fallen backwards, except he bumps right into Derek who steadies Stiles with firm hands on his hips. The feel of those strong hands on his hips from behind short circuit something in Stiles’s brain and he only hears what Sophia is saying after she’s been talking for a few seconds.

“...can’t believe you did that. I’m so sorry I dragged you into this and that you got hurt.” Sophia is crying on his shirt and a crash of weariness makes him unsteady.

Stiles leans back into Derek a little, trying to take some strength from that. He weakly pats Sophia. “It’s okay. I’m fine. Everyone’s alive and I’m only a little scratched up.”

Derek’s hands don’t move from Stiles. “Stiles is tired. We should let him rest.”

Stiles is so grateful for Derek he would kiss him if he could, but he can’t. Ever. Stiles wants to be alone to sleep and wallow. He should feel better about saving Sophia and doing some awesome new tricks, but all he can think about are his pillow and the bitterness growing like a weed in the middle of his unrequited feelings for Derek.

“I think using my new druid tricks took more out of me that I thought.” It’s not a lie so none of the wolves will know that it’s not the complete truth..

“Do you need anything?” Scott asks as Stiles extracts himself from both Sophia and Derek.

“Just my bed for now.” Stiles really is starting to feel the pull of exhaustion. 

Cora joins them. “I’ll make sure he gets up to his room so you two can talk to Sophia.”

Stiles nods, already in a fog. Cora takes his hand and pulls him upstairs to his room. Stiles takes off his belt and steps out of his pants. He puts on the pajama pants he left out from the night before and falls face first onto the bed. Cora lays down next to him and curls into his side. Stiles brushes his messed up feelings aside and tumbles to sleep.


	8. Chapter 8

Stiles is hot and can’t move. He tries to wiggle his toes, but there’s something flung over them. He cracks one eye open and Derek’s hair is in his face. Derek’s face is tucked against Stiles’s shoulder. His face is slack and gone is the responsibility he carries during the day. Stiles doesn’t want to move, ever, but his bladder is insistent. He looks at Derek one more time and lifts himself up in one arm. Cora is asleep on his other side and Malia is next to her. Scott’s arm is the weight across his feet and Sophia is wrapped up between Scott and Malia. Stiles looks around the room. Isaac, Theo, Em, and Liam are in a pile of blankets next to the bed. 

There are some protests and snuffling as Stiles extracts himself from the bed, but he makes it without jostling everyone too much. He can hear the change in Derek’s breathing and one hazel eye opens to look at him. A smile tugs on the corners of Derek’s mouth and everything inside Stiles breaks. He turns his back and goes into the bathroom, closing the door with a shaking hand. 

_ I’m so fucked _ .

Stiles stays in the bathroom longer than he should. His shoulders are stiff, but not as sore as they could be. He’ll need someone to look at them today. Stiles grips the edge of the bathroom counter and stares at his face in the mirror. He only sees Derek’s partial smile on repeat and he forces himself to squash it down, deep into a well with a cover, rocks on top of that, and a heap of dirt to cover the entire mess. Stiles brushes his teeth and holds onto his determination to keep that well hidden.

Stiles leaves the bathroom and none of his packmates have moved. He looks mournfully at the bed and pads down three flights of stairs to the kitchen to start coffee. Out of the back corner of the pantry, he pulls out a package of pop tarts and munches on them while he waits for the coffee. He starts making a list of things he wants to look up—more defensive spells he can use, some healing spells would come in handy, some passive spells he can put up around the house, something stronger than just wards, and whatever else he can find. The Benson Pack isn’t the first to threaten the McCall Pack, but they are the most insistent and Stiles doubts they will be the last. 

The library smells like books and leather and comfort and Stiles pulls down a book and settles into the window seat with a cup of coffee balanced on his knee. He reads through that book and grabs another off the shelf. He walks around the room reading, making some notes on one of the legal pads of paper he keeps on the desk. Stiles pulls another book from the shelf, this one about the healing properties of local plants. He sits down on the floor where he was standing and starts reading.

A plate of eggs, fruit, and toast is shoved under his nose. Derek’s eyebrows look annoyed but his eyes are dancing over Stiles so Stiles knows he’s not in real trouble.

“Is it breakfast already?” Stiles asks.

“It’s almost 10am,” Derek deadpans.

Stiles takes the plate. “No wonder I’m starving.”

“It’s a wonder you survived college.” Derek sits cross-legged on the floor in front of him.

Stiles shews the corner of the toast. “I had Scott with me. We took care of each other.”

Derek looks at the book and paper debris on the floor. “What are you researching?”

“I was trying to find some healing spells and plants and some passive spells or wards that might fight back, not just act as an alert system. I mean, the alerts are nice, but what if the forest or the house would actually fight back? That would be awesome.”

“Is that possible?” Derek is thinking about it and looking at Stiles with a slightly awed look.

Stiles shrugs. “I dunno. Maybe? Seems more of a witchy thing, but why can’t druids do some of that stuff too. Plus, since I’m already working on distilling some poisons, I want to try some healing salves for the humans and maybe there’s something that can speed up were healing.” Stiles shovels the last of his eggs in his mouth and swallows before continuing. “Also, I was trying to see if druids can heal themselves or others. Deaton never has, but he seems to rely more on herbs and practical stuff instead of magic.”

“I think I have a book at my house that might help.” Derek stands. Derek kept some books that had belonged to his mother at his house. “I’ll go get it and bring it back for you.”

Stiles smiles at Derek and his heart flips a little.

Derek is still, watching him. “How are you feeling?” he asks Stiles.

“Good. Stiff, but I’ll need the bandages changed soon.”

Derek nods. “I can do that when I get back.”

“Thanks.” Stiles stands and puts the plate on the desk and pulls down another book from the shelf. He thumbs through it, finds nothing, and puts it back on the shelf.

Three books later, Stiles is still standing by the shelf, his hip leaning into it, when he hears someone coming down the hall. He looks up, a smile breaking over his face. “That was quicker than I expected.” Stiles smiles falters but stays in place when he sees that it’s Sophia coming into the room.

“Were you expecting someone else?” She smiles at him and tilts her head, her dark hair gracefully disheveled, showing off her graceful throat.

“Uh, Derek was getting a book for me from his house.”

“What are you researching?” 

Sophia keeps moving into his space and Stiles stays still, unsure if he wants to move away or not. She presses herself into his side, ostensibly to look over the edge of the book he’s holding, but really to press her breasts into his arm. Stiles may not have a ton of experience, but he has enough to know that Sophia has been flirting pretty hard with him since she got here. He hasn’t discouraged it either. 

Sophia takes the book from his hands, using slow movements so he can stop her, but he doesn’t. She folds down the corner of the page he was reading— _ dog ears it _ , he thinks hysterically—and lays it on the shelf behind his head. Stiles is glad it was one of the newer books he owns and not an older one. Her hands are already near his head and one of them threads through his hair and the other one wraps around his waist to pull him close.

Stiles can’t breathe, thinks maybe he should move away, but he doesn’t because there is a small flare of need and it has been a very long time since anyone has made this kind of overture to him. She closes the distance between them. Sophia’s lips are warm and tentative, then she presses him closer with a small sound and opens his mouth with her tongue.

_ God, it feels good to be touched like this.  _ To be wanted, pursued, held like he is something that matters, and for a moment, Stiles leans into it, trying to pretend that this could be enough. Sophia is kind and funny and he’s not completely immune to her charms. There isn’t any fire in the places Sophia’s hands touch but there is a flaring of affection. He wants it to be enough so badly that he aches with it, but when Sophia’s hands go under his shirt, Stiles grabs them to still their movements. 

Stiles takes a deep breath and knows a second before he sees Derek in the doorway, skin pale and eyes wide, white knuckle grip on the doorway, that Derek has been standing there for a while. Now that Stiles is aware, the connection in his head, the bright blue and green one that connects him to Derek slices through him, like a jagged tear of pain. Stiles blinks, eyes watering, and when he looks again, Derek is gone. The pain that lances through Stiles is familiar and swift, though this manifestation of it feels like a tsunami, consuming everything in its path with relentless winds and rain.

Sophia whines. “I’m sorry. What happened? I thought you wanted me to.” She had never turned around, never seen the devastation on Derek’s face, the betrayal and resignation, but Stiles had seen all of it. Felt it. 

Stiles wants to answer her, but all he can think on a loop is all the times Derek has had his world and heart crushed by people when he should have been protected and cherished. It doesn’t matter that Derek never told him how he felt. What matters is that Stiles is the one that put that look on Derek’s face this time, the one who crushed Derek beneath the heel of his boot. Crushed him for a fleeting need to feel wanted.

Stiles has ruined the thing in his life he holds most dear, even if it is the most hidden. 

Stiles slides to the floor, chest tight and vision swimming. He can’t draw in enough air. Sophia is talking to him in a high and panicked voice but her words don’t register. The vice on his chest gets tighter and Stiles closes his eyes. That’s worse though because all he sees is Derek’s face and Stiles thinks he’d rather die having a panic attack than keep seeing that on a loop. He opens his eyes again but there are black spots in his vision and he can’t fucking breathe in enough air. 

Everything hurts, but nothing matters. Stiles broke Derek and now Stiles is broken.

Liam rushes in, hazel eyes wide. “What happened? Stiles.” Liam kneels in front of Stiles. His hands are warm on Stiles’s face. Warm against his skin when everything seems cold and tinny like he’s hearing it through a tunnel.

Sophia is crying. Liam asks her again what happened and she hiccups and says, “I kissed him and he started freaking out. I don’t know.”

“Shit. I saw Derek leave and I knew something was wrong.” Liam shakes Stiles's head, still trapped in between his hands. “Stiles, look at me. What three things cannot long remain hidden? The sun, the moon, the truth. What three things cannot long remain hidden? The sun, the moon, the truth.”

Liam keeps repeating the mantra and Stiles focuses on Liam’s eyes and the words and runs them through his head, pulling them through his panic, and tries to breathe as deeply as he can. Liam repeats the words over and over, Stiles loses track of the time, until he is breathing normally. A sheen of sweat covers Stiles and his body feels boneless with exhaustion.

Liam’s hand still cups his face. “Stiles, what happened?”

Stiles draws a shaky breath and his vision swims. When he blinks, tears fall down his face. “I made a mistake. I thought he didn’t… he never told me… I broke it.” Stiles collects his thoughts. “Sophia kissed me. Derek saw.”

Liam sighs. “Shit.”

“What did I do? They both acted like they weren’t together.” Sophia’s eyes are watery and Stiles can’t look at her. He tastes bile in the back of his throat and his breath hitches in and out in painful gasps. The vise on his chest tightens again.

A phone starts buzzing, his, Stiles thinks, but he doesn’t know where it is. Everything still seems fifty feet away. Liam keeps a steady hand on Stiles and rummages around, finding Stiles’s phone under one of the piles of books.

“Scott, you need to send someone to get Sophia. She needs to stay with Lydia for a few days.” Liam glances at Stiles and turns his back to him but Stiles can still hear him. “Something happened with Derek. Stiles is having a panic attack and Derek ran off.” Pause. “Yeah, I think you better come home.”

Liam looks at Sophia, who has backed far away from Stiles and wedged herself into a corner. “You’re not in trouble. We are not making you leave, but we need you to stay with Lydia and Parrish for a few days. You’ll be as safe there as here. Scott will explain everything when he gets here. Go pack a bag.”

Sophia nods then approaches Stiles slowly. She stops when she’s a few feet from him. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t know.”

Stile laughs, high and thready. “How could you know? I didn’t know either.” Everything on his body hurts and he sits there, rooted to the floor. He needs to feel the Preserve, needs to ground himself with something so that he doesn’t float away. He looks up at Liam. “I need to go outside.”

Stiles’s legs wobble when he stands and Liam catches him before he can collapse again. Stiles takes a deep breath—it hurts when he breathes deep, sharp pains that roar through him—and steadies himself. He can’t fall apart now, not now that he knows he has something to fight for.

Stiles makes it out the back door, kicking off his shoes on the porch and sinking his toes into the ground. The cool blades of grass feel like heaven on his hot feet and he feels the pieces of himself sinking back where they belong. Stiles collapses into a sitting position in the grass, legs folded, palms down to the ground. Liam hovers not too far away, but lets Stiles be. 

Stiles opens his awareness to the Preserve and to the Pack. He can feel the worry from the pack members that are more in tune with their pack connections. They would have known that something was wrong—it was too big of a crash on both Stiles and Derek’s part for it not to be noticed by someone. Normally Stiles would send out feelings of comfort but he can barely pull himself together. Still can’t get quite enough air in his lungs, much less get anyone else there.

He pushes the Pack awareness aside and focuses on the Preserve, letting the life and power of renewal that it brings fill him. Stiles grabs hold of the Nemeton and the new trees forming the growing circle of power there. He pulls and lets their raw power fill him, lets it spackle over the pain that is threatening to hallow him out. It’s a temporary fix, but he needs the reprieve while he thinks. He meditates and allows his power to ebb and flow from the land.

Scott comes to sit by Stiles, and Stiles opens his eyes and looks up instead of over at his best friend. The sun is dipping towards the horizon. It’ll be dusk in an hour and Stiles has spent hours outside without knowing it. 

“Did you know?” Stiles asks without preamble.

Scott doesn’t look at him and there is a trickle of anger that leaves nothing but exhaustion in its wake as it slithers through Stiles. He repeats the question. “Did you know Derek had feelings for me?”

Scott nodded. “I’d hoped, we’d all hoped, you two would figure things out on your own.”

Stiles is shaking. He digs his fingers into the ground. “All those years of my whining to you and you said nothing.”

“It wasn’t my secret to tell. Besides, I figured at least one of you would get your head out of your ass long before this and make a move.”

“Yeah, well, guess I really fucked that up royally. Do you really think I have a chance now? You know the shit he’s been through and I just kicked him the face. What was I thinking?” Stiles drops his head to his knees, unable to hold himself up.

“You were thinking that Sophia is nice and likes you.” Scott runs his hands over the back of Stiles neck. “You were thinking Derek was never a possibility.”

“I want to hate it that you know me so well.”

“You don’t though.”

Stiles shakes his head. “No, I don’t.”

“What’re you going to do?” Scott squeezes the hand on Stiles’s neck and doesn’t let go.

“I’m going to fight. If that moody, damaged jerk thinks he can just run off like I won’t follow his stupid furry ass anywhere he tries to hide from me, he’s even dumber than I thought.”

Scott chuckles. “That’s the best friend I love.”

Stiles takes a deep breath, maybe the first one he’s had since the library. “Do you think I still have a chance or that he’ll even listen?”

Scott pulls Stiles in close for a proper hug. “I think he’s in over his head as much as you are, but I think if you can sit down and have a real conversation, you have a chance. Unfortunately, it might be a few days before he comes back.”

Scott, for once, is right. It’s four days before Derek comes back. Stiles keeps a mental finger on the thread that leads to Derek. The connection pulses with pain, anger, longing, disappointment —swinging so wildly that Stiles has trouble some days differentiating between his own feelings, which fare no better, and what he is sensing from Derek. The thread stretches and pulls, then contracts as Derek moves around, but he never comes close enough that Stiles thinks he’s heading home.

Each day the thread stays thin and pulled, Stiles feels more and more hollow, his insides scooped out and replaced with coals that burn through him relentlessly. He knows Derek has to come back home eventually, but a small part of him doubts it and time gives that small part life and breath until it grows into a suffocating weight. Stiles goes to sleep alone, but keeps waking up surrounded by warm bodies. The pack is as worried as he is and it takes his breath, makes it all worse, knowing he’s here surrounded by people that love them both and Derek is alone.

Alone. It keeps eating through whatever is left of him, until by the fourth day Stiles knows he is, objectively, a wreck. Then he feels it, the shift in the connection, a loosening that means that Derek is finally coming back in this direction. 

Stiles nervously takes a shower and dithers over what to wear, finally settling on jeans and a soft sweater. The wards ping when Derek crosses into the Preserve and Stiles is weak with relief, only for that to be replaced with oily fear.

_ All these days of longing and moping and I don’t even know what the hell to say _ , Stiles berates himself.

Stiles tries reading, but after reading the same page for thirty minutes he gives up and goes into the kitchen for a drink. Most of the pack is milling around the house, the tension in the air palpable as everyone waits for something to happen.


	9. Chapter 9

Stepping into his own house has never felt so good and so painful at the same time. Good because he’s tired of sleeping in the cold and foraging for food. Painful because he thought he could do this, live this life that was Stiles adjacent. He can’t though. He’s never been more wrong about anything in his entire life and Derek has made some colossal mistakes. This one though, this one might be the one that finally kills him, flays him bare and leaves him bleeding to death.

Derek stumbles through his front door, on human legs that have forgotten how to work. He breathes in deep. He has an entire speech prepared in his head and his hands shake while he takes a shower. He trembles while he puts on clothes for the first time in four days and he wonders if his words will be enough or if they will be too late, an offer of a crumb when an entire feast is required.

Derek walks barefoot to the Pack House, unable to stomach putting on shoes, needing the ability to escape as fast as possible. Just in case. Just in case all is lost before it has even been found. It is both the longest and shortest walk he’s ever taken. He stops on the front porch, listening to the sounds of life inside the house and he hears the conversations quiet down. The one sound he wants, he needs like air, is on the other side of the door, fast and skipping. Derek sends a plea to whoever is listening and opens the door.

Everything pinpoints down to the man standing in the entryway, amber eyes lock with his as Stiles’s body tightens like he’s getting ready to run. Derek wishes he knew if it was away or forward. Derek takes a tentative step forward and, when Stiles doesn’t move, his feet carry him faster.

Derek doesn’t hesitate. He wraps his arms around Stiles, one up along Stiles’s spine and one cupping the back of Stiles’s head to bring their mouths together. It’s nothing that Derek expects—this first kiss. It’s not messy, or rough, or sweet. It’s love that grew into something epic over time. It’s years of pent up longing and late night dreams that never saw the light of day. It’s small gestures and nights of snuggling on the couch as they watched movies. It’s brushes with death where the only shield they had was each other. It’s a million miniscule things and immense moments that can barely be seen they are so wide on the horizon. 

Derek is wrecked. Stiles’s hands are wrapped in his shirt, fisted at the base of his spine as they melt into each other.

When they finally break apart, Stiles pupils are wide and they’re both panting. Derek registers that they’re not alone and panic crashes into him. He looks into the kitchen and then the living room, all those faces a blur and back at Stiles, who’s still staring at him, lips red and wet, and silent. Derek doesn’t know what to do so he does the absolute worst thing. He turns around and runs out of the house.

He’s halfway across the yard before he slows. He never said a word, not one, to Stiles before he kissed him and ran out. Derek’s shoulders slump, his body still a riot of nerve endings, as he struggles to maintain some composure after fucking that up. Again.

There’s the sound of pounding feet behind him accompanied by the heartbeat he knows as well as he knows his own.

“Derek, wait a minute. Just wait.” Stiles grabs his forearm. “Please don’t leave again. Liam is going to be really pissed if he has to talk me out of a panic attack again.”

Derek turns to face Stiles, seeing him is like a punch in the gut, and he reaches out to touch Stiles’s face, but he drops his hand before he makes contact. “You had a panic attack? You haven’t had one of those in years.”

“Are we starting with that?” Stiles lets go once he’s sure Derek isn’t going to leave, and rubs the back of his neck. “I, uh, may have had a bit of a panic attack when you ran off last time.”

Derek steps closer to Stiles. “Are you okay?”

Stiles threads his fingers through Derek’s and presses their palms together. “Don’t leave again.”

Derek nods. Stiles had a panic attack because of him. This was why he kept everything gathered to his chest, why he never did or said anything, because every relationship he has had is messed up in some way and he did not want to mess up the most perfect thing in his life.

Stiles squeezes his hand. “I know what you’re thinking. Stop it.”

Stiles always sees too much. Derek’s entire body shakes. He swallows then meets Stiles’s eyes. “How could you possibly know?” He goes for bravado, but the words come out like a whisper of pain.

Stiles takes a step into his space so that they are angled together, one side of their bodies touching lightly. “I’ve become an expert in Sourwolf. It’s almost a dead language. There’s only one known speaker of it in the world, but fortunately, or unfortunately depending on your perspective, I’ve had years to learn it. Self-preservation, really, because you never use actual words.”

The lilt of Stiles speaking relaxes Derek enough for him to try to take back control of the conversation. “You never answered my question.”

Stiles inches closer, so that their bodies are pressing more than hovering. “You’re talking yourself out of whatever this is,” Stiles squeezes Derek’s hand, “and finding a reason to say no to it because you are an epic ball of man pain.”

Derek snorts.

“You’re annoyed that I’m right but you’d never actually say those words I dream about hearing late in the night.  _ Stiles, you’re right _ .” Stiles waggles his eyebrows at Derek.

Stiles is joking with him because that’s easy, but Derek can smell the acrid scent of worry mixed with the sweet scent of hope. Beneath it all is the base of everything that is Stiles, the green of growing things and a spiciness like ginger. Derek takes a deep breath.

“Stiles, you’re right.”

The smile that breaks over Stiles’s face was worth waiting years to see.

“I made a mistake, years ago, and I let that mistake compound and grow, but you still never answered my question. Why did you have a panic attack?” Derek has to know. If the answer is what he’s starting to suspect, then he has a reason to hope that for once in his life, he may get to hold something precious and call it his own.

Stiles’s smell shifts. He’s nervous again. “I’m sorry about Sophia.” Derek is growling before he realizes he’s doing it. Stiles presses closer. “I’m not sure what it says about me, but that is fucking hot.” Derek shoots him a look, hiding the fact that he wants to gloat. Stiles swallows. “Right, well, I should never have let her kiss me, but I thought you weren’t even a possibility. You have to know, I’ve been gone on you for years, completely. I never date anyone else. I couldn’t bring myself to do it because,” Stiles swallows audibly, “they weren’t you and you, stupid werewolf, never gave any indication that you gave a shit.” 

Stiles releases his hand and steps away from him. Derek wants to snatch him back, fisting his hands by his side. Stiles sees the movement and runs a hand through his hair. “That’s exactly what I’m talking about. Why do you stop yourself? Why are you so afraid of touching me?”

All the tension goes out of Derek and his head and shoulders drop. “Because I’m afraid I’d never stop, that it isn’t what you wanted, and that once I had you not having you would kill me. I ruin everything I touch.”

Derek’s eyes are closed, but he can feel Stiles moving, then there are warm hands cupping his face, hands with calluses and long fingers. “I had a panic attack because I saw your face in the library. You were gutted. I saw it and I knew you felt the same way I did—that my entire existence is tangled in you and yours in me. But then I realized, seeing you run, that I’d crushed the thing I’d always wanted without ever knowing I could have it.” 

Stiles rubs his thumbs over Derek’s cheekbones. “I kissed her because I was trying to convince myself I could move on, but I’ve never been more wrong. You left and I knew, finally, that you might feel something for me and I broke open. I couldn’t breathe.”

Derek is drowning in the way Stiles’s eyes are pinning him to the spot. He’s inflamed in the places Stiles’s hands are covering. Derek leans forward and rests their foreheads together. They’re the same height and they stand there, breathing in each other.

“I’m sorry,” Derek finally says.

“Shhh, stop. None of that now.” Stiles presses them together. “We know now. Now, we have to make better choices. Use some of our words, like adults, or so Cora and Lydia are always telling me to do.” Stiles draws in a breath. “Derek, there hasn’t been anyone else for me for a long time. I never thought you had more than general annoyance and pack affection for me.”

Derek has too many and not enough words for all the things coursing through him. He wraps Stiles up and buries his face in Stiles’s neck, pressing his nose right behind his ear and breathes in and out slowly. “Stiles.” The man in his arms trembles at the word. “Stiles, I should have told you a long time ago. I love you.” 

There’s a whooping noise from the house. Stiles lifts his hand in the air and flips off their audience. “I assume they’re all watching and listening.”

Derek tilts his head and listens. “Sounds like it. Also, there’s some money being exchanged.”

“We should at least give them a show, if they’re paying for it.” Stiles winks at Derek.

“I’d rather not.” 

But Derek doesn’t protest when Stiles grabs him, maneuvering him so that their profiles are facing the house. The ease at which Stiles can do that—when did he get so strong—clenches everything in Derek. Stiles’s hands smooth down Derek’s back and over his ass, where Stiles uses that leverage to haul Derek against him and give him the filthiest, open mouthed kiss anyone has ever planted on him. His body is hard and straining towards Stiles as Stiles rubs their hips together obscenely. It may be just for show, but Derek is on the edge of losing his mind. Stiles growls at him and Derek replies with a high keening noise that he can’t even find the wits to be embarrassed about.

Stiles breaks the kiss. His face is flushed and so pretty Derek wants him alone to see where that color ends. Stiles slides down Derek’s body, then straightens up. “We need to leave, before I give them more of a show than any of them bargained for.”

Derek can hear Theo, “I’m already going to have nightmares.”

“I don’t know. I think I may need a cold shower after that,” Liam adds.

Derek chuckles. “I think you’re right.” 

Derek takes Stiles’s hand and they run off through the trees. Stiles is chuckling and Derek’s face hurts from smiling. Derek stops on the porch of his house, his hand on the doorknob. He turns around.

“Are you sure about this?” He hates the uncertainty in his voice, the neediness buried there.

Stiles takes a step towards him and drops his voice. “Derek Hale, if you don’t get your ass in that house and your clothes off in less than a minute, I will physically harm you and it will not be the sexy kind of pain that requires safe words.”

Derek’s blood boils at the words. “Do I need a safe word?”

Stiles groans and licks his lips. The sight of it goes straight to Derek’s dick. Stiles’s fingers ghost over Derek’s chest. “Not tonight, but maybe another time.”

Derek nods mutely, unable to form words because of the amount of blood vacating his brain and moving south. He opens the door and Stiles pushes past him and runs up the stairs. Derek slams the door, locks it, and chases Stiles all the way to the bedroom. Stiles is quicker than he thought, because by the time Derek makes it up the stairs, Stiles has his shirt off and is standing in his bedroom, jeans hugging his hip bones. Derek sucks in a breath at the sight, which only fills even more of his senses with Stiles as he is hit with a fresh wave of need and lust in the air coming from the other man.

Derek stalks Stiles until they both tumble onto the bed, a tangle of limbs and roaming hands.

“You have too many clothes on.” Stiles is yanking at Derek’s shirt and Derek laughs as he takes it off.

Derek opens Stiles’s belt with one hand while the other brings Stiles close enough for Derek to plant small biting kisses along the curve of Stiles’s neck and over the ridge of his collarbone. Stiles arches his back, exposing his neck and pressing his chest and hips into Derek. It’s overwhelming and Derek wraps Stiles in both arms and squeezes him. Stiles returns his embrace then sneaks his hands down and undoes Derek’s pants, rubbing the heel of his palm along Derek’s aching dick.

They shuck their pants in record time and Derek’s nerve endings are on overload just from having Stiles, naked and hard against him. 

“What do you want to do?” Stiles asks.

“Everything,” Derek replies, reaching between them and grabbing both of them in his hand and squeezing. Stiles bites his bottom lip and pushes into Derek’s hand.

“Hopefully, we’ll have time to try everything more than once.” The grin Stiles gives him is pure sex and Derek is speechless for a moment to have that look directed at him.

Derek regains his senses enough to say, “I want you inside me, all over me.”

Stiles growls at him and pushes Derek onto his back with firm pressure to his shoulder. “That can be arranged, but you’ll have to return the favor later because,” Stiles closes his eyes, “I’ve wanted this for a very long time.”

Derek cups the side of Stiles’s face. “We’re here now.” The grin dopely at each other. “Now get your mouth down where it belongs.”

Stiles chuckles, the sound vibrating as he moves down. “Of course you’d be a bossy bottom.”

Derek isn’t sure what he expects, but it’s definitely not for Stiles to take his sweet time. He licks up Derek’s length, running his fingers behind where his tongue has been with firm, then gentle pressure. Stiles sucks him in, wrapping Derek’s balls in his hand as he does, and Derek forgets to breathe. Stiles moves his head up, hollowing out his cheeks as he runs his tongue over the head of Derek’s dick. 

“Jesus, Stiles.”

Derek can feel him smile, even with Derek’s dick filling his mouth. Stiles hums in pleasure and Derek’s toes curl, then Stiles presses a thumb to Derek’s hole and Derek can’t move as everything in him seizes up.

Stiles presses his lips into the base of Derek’s length, then pulls up, allowing Derek to slide out of his mouth with a wet sound. Stiles stalks up Derek’s body and the kiss that follows is greedy, tongue tangling, and mouths devouring. Stiles’s hips jerk into his while his hands are pulling at Derek’s hair. The slight pain goes right to his aching dick.

“The lube is in the drawer next to the bed,” Derek rubs himself against Stiles’s thigh but it’s not enough.

“Impatient,” Stiles says as he moves and fishes around in the drawer. 

Stiles rises up on his knees and puts lube on his fingers with deliberately slow movements. Derek retaliates by wrapping his hand around Stiles’s dick and fisting it. Stiles pushes into Derek’s hand and bends over him, pressing a slick finger against Derek’s puckering hole and pushing his tongue into Derek’s mouth. It’s filthy and perfect, so Derek is distracted and doesn’t have any warning before Stiles plunges his finger into Derek.

Derek arches off the bed, pain and pleasure a wild mix of sensations. Stiles pulls his finger out slow, kissing Derek with tenderness, as he fills Derek with his finger again with agonizingly slow movements. Stiles keeps up the slow thrusting until Derek is writhing for more and Stiles slides another finger alongside the first. Stiles uses his free hand to grab Derek behind the knee to give himself better access.

Stiles runs the tip of his fingers against Derek’s prostate and Derek isn’t sure he’s going to last through this torture. He can barely breathe through his need to move and have more, more of everything.

“God, Derek, you’re beautiful.”

“Stiles, stop being a tease and put your dick in me.”

Stiles chuckles and removes his fingers. Derek whines at the loss. “See, what I said? You’re bossy.” Stiles applies lube to his erection, taking his time and fisting himself from tip to base until Derek reaches up and pinches Stiles’s hip. Stiles laughs and leans back over Derek, one hand on the bed beside Derek’s head and one hand hooked behind Derek’s knee.

Stiles pauses, the head of his dick whispering against Derek’s quivering opening and Derek has had enough waiting. He uses his free leg and his hands to yank Stiles into him. Stiles grunts in surprise, his breath and heart faltering over each other. The feeling of being full and covered by Stiles presses over Derek until he can’t help but move against Stiles. Stiles groans as he bottoms out and shocks of pleasure ricochet up Derek’s spine. 

Stiles is shaking with the effort to be still.

“Christ, Stiles move before you kill me,” Derek says between clenched teeth.

Stiles obeys, moving out by increments before pushing back into Derek, slow and steady, in a pace destined to make Derek lose his mind. Each thrust has Stiles bumping just the right spot and Derek rises to meet Stiles, lost completely. Stiles keeps up that relentless rhythm until Derek is practically weeping, his own dick dripping precome down his side. Stiles’s breath hitches and he wipes some of the sweat and precome from Derek’s stomach and wraps his hand around Derek. It’s just wet enough, barely, but Derek doesn’t even care. Stiles starts working Derek in the same rhythm, from tip to root, as he increases his pace in and out of Derek’s ass. 

Stiles keeps his amber eyes locked on Derek and Derek can’t look away.

It’s too much for them both. Stiles’s hips jerk and his hand tightens, pushing Derek over the edge. The tightness spreads from his spine and it feels like his entire body reacts with the orgasm. As Derek paints stripes all over his own chest, Stiles shudders over him and finds his own release. Stiles lowers himself onto Derek, letting the mess between them stick them together, still inside Derek. Stiles wraps his mouth around the base of Derek’s neck and bites, not hard enough to break skin, but enough to make Derek’s dick twitch.

“Mine,” Stiles growls.

“Always.” Derek kisses him, less shy and more sure of them both. Derek maneuvers them so that they are laying on their sides. He runs his fingers over Stiles, rubbing the stickiness there into Stiles’s skin.

“Is this a weird scent thing?” Stiles asks, a smirk on his face.

Derek can feel the tips of his ears go red, but for the first time in a long time, he doesn’t try to hide it. “Maybe.”

Stiles grabs Derek’s hand. “I meant what I said a minute ago. You are mine. I’m not giving you up now.”

Derek places his lips over Stiles’s mouth in a chaste kiss. “I’ve been yours for a long time and I don’t like to share.”

Stiles chuckles. “I read somewhere that wolves mate for life.”

“I hope I live a long one then.” Derek gives in and tastes Stiles’s mouth. His dick takes notice and decides it’s back in the game.

Stiles snakes his hand between them, wrapping his long, talented fingers around Derek. 

Derek is hard again with just those small touches from Stiles. “Let me get cleaned up.” Derek hops out of bed, and uses a washcloth to clean up. His skin is sensitive, on edge, and the abrasion of the washcloth has him gritting his teeth. He rushes to finish and walks back to the bed. Stiles holds up his arms and makes grabby hands at him. Derek falls into Stiles and they chuckle and laugh, hands roaming and bodies straining for more fiction.

“I want to be on bottom,” Stiles says in between kisses.

Derek is happy to oblige him and works Stiles over until he is mewling and panting with Derek’s fingers opening him wide. Stiles is pulling at Derek’s hair and begging before Derek applies lube to his dick. He hesitates at Stiles’s opening, his head catching on the rim and Stiles has had enough.

“Oh my God, Derek, fuck me already.”

Derek smirks down at Stiles and thrusts all the way in, slowing towards the end and bottoming out gently. 

They both still for a minute then Stiles slaps Derek’s ass. “Get moving.”

Derek laughs and obeys, overcome with joy at laughing in bed and having Stiles open beneath him, smiling at him like he created the universe. It doesn’t take long before they’re both close and Derek can feel his gums itching with the need to bite. Stiles, who always sees him, tilts his head to the side, exposing the same part of his own neck that he had bitten on Derek before.

“I trust you,” Stiles says, rising up to meet Derek’s next thrust.

Derek is helpless and leans over Stiles, clamping his teeth over the bunch of muscle at the base of Stiles’s neck. Every nerve ending in his body lights up and Derek is gone. He feels Stiles come between them and it only takes one more push forward before he is losing himself in Stiles.

When Derek’s senses return, he still has his teeth clamped down on Stiles. Derek releases him, placing feather kisses over the spot that will be bruised later. 

“I love you.” The words slip out like they’ve been hovering there for years, waiting to be given life.

Stiles pulls Derek up for a kiss. “Always.”

They take a shower together. Washing each other, hands and eyes exploring all the things they’ve longed for, laughing and kissing until the water is cool. By the time they tumble back into bed, both of them are half asleep. Stiles lays on his side and pulls Derek into the curve of his body. Derek melts into the sensation of being covered and protected, tucking Stiles’s hand against his chest. They fall asleep, breath and hearts in sync.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My beta's one complaint about this fic, "You made me wait too long for the boning."
> 
> Sorry not sorry.


	10. Chapter 10

Stiles wakes up with a weight on his chest and Derek’s head tucked into his shoulder. Stiles cards his fingers through Derek’s hair reveling at being able to perform that simple movement without hesitation. His heart trips over itself and Derek notices.

“Having second thoughts?” Derek asks.

“Never. I never thought I’d be able to do this.” Stiles’s throat closes up over whatever else he could have said. “I love you,” Stiles whispers.

Derek lifts his head and Stiles wonders what emotions Derek can smell coming off him. Stiles opens his own senses and can only feel hope and love pulsing through from Derek.

Derek plants a kiss on Stiles’s chest. “It took us time to get here, but we are only moving forward together, from now on.”

Stiles wraps his arms around Derek. “Where is this new found optimism coming from?”

“You could say I had a religious experience last night that has reshaped my understanding of the world.” Derek winks at Stiles and they both laugh.

_ Gods, it feels amazing to laugh like this. _ Stiles’s arms tighten around Derek.

They stay in bed until noon, exploring each other, and Stiles sees Derek smile more than he ever thought possible. They drag themselves, exhausted into the shower again, before they tumble back into bed for a nap. 

It’s after three o’clock when they stumble out of bed and down to the kitchen. 

Stiles slaps Derek on the ass as they assess their dinner options. Derek returns the favor and before long they are rolling around on the floor. Stiles’s stomach growls between them and Derek kisses his nose. The action is so soft Stiles wants to stay there on the floor with Derek forever.

Stiles’s stomach growls again.

“Stop distracting me and let me feed you.” Derek pinches him and they get up.

“I have some meatballs in the freezer. Grab the sauce and pasta from the pantry,” Derek says as he pulls the pots they need out of the cabinet. 

This is a routine they’ve done many times, but unlike all the times before, Stiles has permission to touch Derek as often as he wants. He trails his hands over him as he moves to add pasta to the boiling water. He presses his fingers into Derek’s neck and he wraps his hand around Derek’s hip bone. Stiles can also be as close as he wants so when Derek is testing the sauce, Stiles rests his chin on Derek’s shoulder, curving his entire body around the other man. Derek pushes back into him and offers the spoon to Stiles to taste.

They eat dinner, then clean up the kitchen. 

Derek puts the last dish away and turns to Stiles, shifting his weight like he’s uncertain. Stiles bites the inside of his cheek and waits for whatever it is that Derek wants to say.

“Do you want to stay and watch a movie?” Derek finally asks.

Stiles takes pity on him and steps into Derek’s space. “Did you think I was going to say no and leave?”

Derek’s eyes shift from Stiles’s face to a spot over Stiles’s shoulder. Stiles puts his hands on Derek’s face and refocuses Derek’s gaze. “Maybe I should explain to you what’s going to happen next. Directly after this conversation, we’re going to watch a movie until I convince you to let me get my mouth around your dick. Again. Long term, though, I’m not leaving, like ever. I’m going to get my stuff and move in as soon as I can drag myself away from you. When I said you had me, I mean you’re stuck with me forever. No take backs. No exchanges.”

Derek’s entire body relaxes and he wraps himself around Stiles, pushing his tongue into Stiles’s mouth and his hips into Stiles. Stiles is only too happy to reciprocate.

They eventually make it to the couch and put in a movie. It’s a good thing it’s one they’ve seen multiple times because Stiles doesn’t let Derek see much of it. They fall asleep on the couch with Derek draped over Stiles.

A loud knocking on the door jerks Stiles awake but he doesn’t move far because he’s being pinned down by the body of a warm werewolf.

The knocking becomes a pounding. Malia’s voice comes through the door, loud enough for Stiles to hear. “Open up, you two. I know you're in there. We left you alone long enough to figure stuff out, now open up.”

Derek presses his face into Stiles’s neck and groans. “Can’t you have some plants drag her out into the trees?”

Stiles chuckles. “So bloodthirsty. I adore it.” Stiles wraps Derek up with his body, like a koala and squeezes until Derek grunts in protest. “She’s not going to leave. You know how she is.”

Derek sighs and plants a kiss behind Stiles’s ear before levering himself up and off the couch. Stiles sits up and rubs a hand over his face while Derek goes to answer the door. Malia stomps into the living room and wrinkles her nose.

“You two need a shower, but I’m glad you both finally got your shit together.” She puts her hands on her hips and smirks at them.

“To what do we owe this visit, Malia, my love?” Stiles stands and stretches. The movement exposes a line of his stomach and he notices Derek not bothering to cover up the fact that he's noticed. Stiles walks over to stand next to Derek and slips his hand under Derek’s shirt and across his lower back.

Malia’s eyes soften at them. “I need you both to come to the main house. It’s movie night but also I need you to both tell Sophia she can stay. She’s beside herself and she won’t believe any of us.”

Derek growls at Sophia’s name and Stiles elbows him hard in the stomach, choking off the sound. “We’ll get cleaned up and I’ll talk to her. Derek will learn some manners in the next thirty minutes.”

Malia laughs. “We’re grilling burgers tonight. Derek, your potato salad has been requested.” She turns to go but Stiles stops her. 

“Will you tell Scott to arrange for everyone to help me move some things tomorrow?” Stiles asks.

She turns back around and raises an eyebrow at him, her mouth curving down. “Where are you going? I thought…” She waves a hand at the two of them.

Derek puts his arm around Stiles and kisses him on the temple. “Stiles is moving in here, with me.”

Malia grins. “I’ll make sure everyone is on hand early.” 

They walk to the Pack House with their fingers entwined. Derek stops halfway there and closes his eyes. Stiles drinks him in, the way the sun is filtering through the leaves and creating patterns on Derek’s skin. The entire forest is humming underneath the surface with power. Stiles throws out his awareness and the Preserve answers back, rushing power into him. Derek’s hand jerks in his.

“I felt that. What did you do?” Derek asks.

“I opened my senses to the Preserve then pushed my power into it. You felt that?”

Derek opens his eyes and nods. “I’ve always felt connected to the land, my family has lived here and protected this territory for generations, but this morning I can  _ feel _ it. It’s buzzing with a power that is palpable. Before it was more like a gentle presence. This feels heavier, hotter, but still benevolent.” Derek lifts his nose and breathes in. “The power feels like you when you’re doing spells or ward work.”

A small thrill goes through Stiles. “I’m tied to the land as the Pack Druid and because I’m tied to the Nemeton.” Stiles sweeps his eyes down and moves closer to Derek before looking back up. His body reacts to Derek’s proximity, tightening and tingling with awareness.  _ I hope that never stops, _ he thinks. “After last night, I’m also tied to you. It makes sense that you can feel more of the magic of the land because you are more in tune with me and my magic.”

“It’s like a circle of connection and power.” Derek nods.

“Exactly.”

“I wonder if this was something my mother knew about. There are so many things I wish I could ask her.”

Stiles sighs. “I wish it was like with old Jedis and we could commune with their spirits when we had questions. C’mon.” Stiles pulls him and Derek follows.

Cora bounds out of the house before they get to the porch and launches herself at both of them, wrapping one of them in each arm. “You two. I love you both so much. I was afraid I was going to have to kill one or both of you.”

Stiles chuckles and pulls Cora and Derek inside.

There are plenty of suggestive comments and high fives all around. Stiles excuses himself and goes out the back door to the bench that wraps around one of the trees in the back. Sophia is sitting with her eyes closed and her head resting against the trunk of the tree. Stiles knows she can hear and sense his approach, so he doesn’t announce himself, just sits beside her.

“I shouldn’t have kissed you. I knew there was something there between you and Derek. I mean even a deaf, dumb, and blind person could’ve seen the way you two orbited each other, but you said there was nothing there. I just wanted so badly to feel something good and you’ve been so kind to me. I do like you, Stiles.” 

Stiles runs a hand down Sophia’s arm, aware that they probably have multiple people watching and listening. “There’s enough blame to go around. It’s not like I discouraged you or pushed you away when you kissed me either.” Stiles huffs out a breath. “I’m sorry. I should have been more honest with you.” He chuckles. “Actually, I should have been more honest with everyone.”

Stiles puts his arm around Sophia. “The thing you couldn’t have known is that Derek and I have been moving towards each other since we met. I think we were inevitable. This situation has nothing to do with you. Your ability to be safe here, to stay or go as you choose, has nothing to do with me or Derek.”

Sophia leans into him. “Thank you. Still friends?”

“Absolutely.”

Sophia’s body relaxes and they stay outside for a bit, enjoying the sun. Stiles and Sophia join the others inside. Cora hands him a beer, brown ale in a stainless steel glass, when he gets to the kitchen. Derek is chopping celery, peppers, and onions for potato salad and Stiles itches with the need to touch him. With a jolt, he realizes that’s something he’s allowed to do now. 

Stiles smirks and goes up behind Derek, dropping a kiss on the back of Derek’s neck. Derek hums and presses into him. Stiles lays his head between Derek’s shoulder blades. 

“If y’all make out in the kitchen, I’m never going to be able to eat in here again,” Theo says as he grabs a beer from the fridge.

Stiles winks at Theo. “You’re just jealous because you haven’t convinced Liam to make out with you in here yet.”

Theo’s cheeks burn and Stiles busts out in laughter. “Paybacks are a bitch.” Stiles clinks his cup against the can in Theo’s hand and sees his dad watching them from the table.

“Hey, kiddo.”

“Hey, Pops. Didn’t see you there.”

Noah tilts his head towards Derek. “You seemed to have only one thing on your mind.”

Stiles shrugs and smiles, walking over to his dad and giving the man a tight hug. “I’m happy for you,” his dad says in his ear even though everyone in the house can hear him.

Stiles hugs his dad back hard. 

After dinner, Scott piles up wood in the firepit out back and Stiles starts it with a snap of his fingers.

“Show off,” Em says rubbing their hand over the back of Stiles’s neck. 

Stiles rubs his hand over their neck and squeezes before letting go. 

\---

Stiles stands in the middle of his old room, feeling the space, empty and void of his things and looking foreign but still feeling like his.

Derek comes up behind him and slips an arm around Stiles. “Regretting leaving?”

“The compensation and moving package are quite nice.” Stiles turns his head and presses a firm kiss to Derek’s lips. “No, I don’t have any regrets. I’ve been living in this room for a couple years now and I’ve loved living here at the top of the house.”

Derek’s arm tightens around him and Stiles leans into the embrace. “Malia is trying to convince Scott to move up into this room.”

“It is the best room in the house.” Stiles looks around one last time. “C’mon. I hear my new house has a sweet porch with a swing.”


	11. Chapter 11

The next month goes by, quiet and slow. Stiles starts to settle into his new routine, which involves walking through the woods to the main house to work in his lab. Once a week, he takes a detour to the Nemeton to meditate and feed positive energy into the new trees growing there. Two weeks ago he started experimenting with a new hemlock poison that seems promising. If he can get it to the right consistency, they can put it in bullets or coat arrows with it. 

Everything is good, which is, of course, when everything goes sideways.

One morning, Stiles wakes up and feels like he didn’t sleep at all. He groans as he rolls over, listening to Derek downstairs in the kitchen. The smell of coffee has wafted up the stairs and Stiles stumbles out of bed and follows his nose to the caffeine.

Derek glances at him then his eyes come back and really rest on him. “You look terrible.”

“Gee, good morning to you too.” Stiles scrubs a hand over his face.

“No, I mean, I know you slept last night. I was lying next to you and I always notice when you don’t sleep. I know you slept like normal, but you look like you’ve been up all night.” Derek pours a cup of coffee for Stiles, puts in cream and sugar, and slides the cup to Stiles. 

Stiles takes a sip and lets the bitterness wake him up. “First off, that’s a little creepy, but I expect that kind of stuff from you. Second, this coffee is delicious. Third, I have no idea why I slept bad. Something feels off.”

Derek rounds the counter and presses the back of his hand to Stiles’s head. He then presses his lips to Stiles’s forehead. “You don’t have a fever.”

Stiles swats at Derek. “What am I? A kid? I’d know if I had a fever.”

“Why don’t you go back to bed.” Derek suggests.

Stiles shakes his head. “No, I’m going with Lydia and Sophia to the shooting range. I’m going to practice with a couple new guns Chris got us that we can make specialized bullets for and Lydia is working on some new arrows that can carry mini-explosives. We want to see what weapons Sophia is the most comfortable with so we can get her trained.”

Derek hums his approval. “We’re going to have to start calling Lydia Hawkeye.”

Stiles puts a hand on his heart. “Are you making nerd references? Oh my gods, if I didn’t love you already, I would immediately fall deeply in lust with you.”

Derek rolls his eyes and smiles, exactly the reaction Stiles wanted. Derek puts his nose into the space behind Stiles’s ear and scents him. “Are we still having dinner with your dad tonight?”

Stiles had been the least surprised person when his dad and Derek got close over the past two years. Even before Stiles moved in with Derek, they had fairly regular dinners together, the three of them. Derek and his dad had a lot in common and it made everything right in Stiles’s world when the two people he adored the most were together.

“I promised him that we’d make him miso soup and dumplings.”

“Homemade dumplings?” Derek raises his eyebrows at Stiles and Stiles knows what that look means.

“I know it’s a lot of work, but I like cooking with you and Dad thinks yours are better than his favorite Chinese place.” Stiles is ready to bring out the big guns and bat his eyes at Derek, which always works, but he doesn’t have to.

Derek has a soft spot for both Stilinski men. “I’ll make them if you help me. Can we make egg drop soup instead?”

Derek knows that is Stiles’s favorite. “Mmm, you do love me.”

“Unfortunately.” Derek kisses Stiles lightly. “I’ll run by the store and meet you at your dad’s at 4.”

“Sounds good.”

“Take a nap if you can. I have a job today helping Chris with some hunters and a pack down south.”

Stiles drinks another cup of coffee, takes a shower, then feels it, a ripple in the wards. It’s feather light and he almost dismisses it but then his tattoos flare to life, glowing and writhing on his arm. He pulls out his phone and starts to text Derek while he walks out the front door. He can feel the magic of the Preserve better when he’s outside, with his feet on the ground, toes digging in. The moment he steps off the porch, still looking at his phone, his senses scream at him.

Stiles looks up and flicks a button on his phone, but it’s too late. A flash of red light hits him in the chest and knocks him off his feet. A net that sparkles in the sun is thrown over him and it burns where it touches his skin. Stiles hisses in pain and six figures appear in front of him. 

_ Fucking witches. Fucking cloaking spell _ , he thinks. That’s why he’s so tired. His wards have been pulling on him all night, maybe even longer than that. The witches were strong enough to mask their presence, but they still tripped the wards enough for Stiles to register that something was wrong.

“Is that the Spark?”

“Would the net be burning his skin like that if he was the wolf?” a witch with a mountain man beard said, voice leaving no doubt how little he thought of his companion asking the question.

“You don’t want me. I’m just a human.” Stiles tries to make himself as small as possible and opens up his awareness to the Preserve. He can’t feel it though. The power slips through his fingers. There must be some kind of warding and poison on the net.

A female witch, her hair in two long brown braids, snorts. “Just a human he says.” The witch rolls her eyes. “It took all six of us a week to make a hole big enough in your wards for all of us to get through. Even now, I feel like ants are crawling in my skull. Human my ass. Those foxes didn’t tell us enough when we took this job. They definitely didn’t pay us enough.”

The bearded witch slaps the woman in the back of the head. “Shut your mouth. The less he knows the better. We aren’t sure what he can do and what we do know is bad enough. Les, you’re up.”

Stiles sits up, gritting his teeth as the net touches new areas of his skin and leaves behind red welts. A silent, bald witch steps forward and blows some powder in Stiles’s face. Stiles tries to hold his breath but the spell apparently doesn’t require him to actually breathe it in because the world starts going dark anyway.

“Shit.”

Stiles wakes with a jolt and the movement sends fissures of heat and pain down his arms from his wrists and up from his ankles. His stomach is queasy from the left over spell that put him to sleep. He blinks a few times and takes stock. 

He has been stripped down to his boxers. This morning he had grabbed the top pair from his drawer. They are pink with hot dogs on them. He’s tied standing up, spread eagle between two metal beams in an open space that looks like a warehouse. There are cubicle partitions restricting his view forward and to the sides, but he can see up and he’s definitely in an industrial building. The ceiling is unfinished, with more metal beams, wires, ducting, and large lights with cages over the bulbs. They must be on the south side of town then if they're still in Beacon Hills at all. Stiles yanks against the ropes restraining him and fire licks up his arms and legs. Stiles turns his head to get a better look at the ropes. 

They are brown, laced with different metals. It looks similar to the net that had been used to capture him, so he has to assume the rope is silver, iron, and hemlock. Great. Stiles tests his pack bonds, but he can’t hold onto them enough to get any information from them. He tries to touch his own power or the Preserve and, like before, it slips through his grasp and he’s left bereft, feeling naked.

The pain of moving in the ropes isn’t that terrible and they don’t look that tight so Stiles throws everything he has into twisting, trying to loosen the ropes enough to get out. His wrists and ankles feel like they’ve been sliced in half by thousands of needles. The pain radiates towards his torso and leaves him shaking and nauseous. 

There’s a chuckle as the woman with the braids comes through an opening in the partitions. “I wouldn’t do that, if I were you.”

Stiles says nothing.

She runs her fingers just above the rope. “Do you like them? I made them myself. I had to wear spelled gloves but I think the results are worth it.” She touches the side of Stiles’s face. “They’re hemlock fibers woven with silver and iron. I made the effect work on weres and magic users. I’m not sure how they’d work for long periods on a were, they do heal annoyingly fast, but you… on you this is going to be a delight.”

“You caught me, congratulations.”

She laughs then. It’s not a warm sound. “Oh, darling, these ropes aren’t just holding you still. They’re slowly poisoning you. They’re spelled. Every time you move, that flash of pain you feel is the fibers of the hemlock in the rope piercing your skin.”

Stiles goes still. This is bad. Very bad. Epically bad. He might die before the Pack can find him bad. “Hemlock is an interesting choice.”

The witch giggles. “I know, right? It’s poisonous to just about everything and takes it’s time killing so it’s more fun. The more you struggle, the more poison gets in your blood and the quicker you die.”

“Brilliant,” Stiles mutters because it really is. He wishes he would’ve thought of it.

The witch smiles. “I know I am. I give you two days, maybe three before you’re dead. I don’t know for sure. This is the first time I’ve gotten to use them so let me know if you have thoughts on their efficiency.”

Another head pokes around the corner. It’s the bald witch. “Boss wants you. The foxes are here.”

Stiles is alone for a while. There are sounds from somewhere on his left, but the voices are too far away to be anything but an echo of noise in the large space. The voices come closer, become more distinct and a handful of people crowd into the space around him. In the front of the group is a woman who is remarkable for her averageness. Plain brown hair, average height, brown eyes, and a forgettable face means that she isn’t someone you’d ever pick out in a crowd. Her face would leave your mind as soon as your eyes moved on. What makes her stand out is the power and menace radiating from her.

Stiles has faced monsters five times her size and apex predators, but there is something about this small nondescript woman that crawls up his spine.

She stalks up to him. “This is the druid?”

Stiles gives her his best, most innocent smile. “Alpha Benson, I presume.”

She leans in, hovering right over Stiles’s neck so he can feel her breath on his skin, and she sniffs. “You’re not scared.” She leans back. “Why aren’t you scared?”

Stiles laughs and the look of anger that crosses the woman’s face is worth it so Stiles laughs harder. “Lady, I run with wolves that are twice your size and four times as deadly. It takes more than a tiny fox to scare me.”

He expects it, but she still moves almost faster than his eyes can track as her fist hits him in the gut. The air swoops out of him and he pulls against the ropes, sending burning needles up his arms again. He closes his eyes and tries to breathe in even, deep breaths, so he doesn’t see the claws, but he feels them rake over his chest, not deep enough to kill him, but enough that he’ll have scars.

“Your mouth will get you killed.” The woman’s words ghost over his face and when Stiles opens his eyes, her face is inches from his own. “You took something that belonged to me. I want it back. That idiotic collection of things you call a Pack will give me back Sophia if they want to see you alive again. Of course, I’m willing to let you die and just take her, so if I were you, I’d hope they make a decision that benefits you quickly.”

Stiles lets his face and eyes go blank. “You’re going to be sorry, lady. No one fucks with us and comes out standing.” 

Alpha Benson tilts her head at him. “My foxes came back with the craziest story, of a druid who fought them and beat them, alone with nothing but his magic and a bat. You don’t look that scary to me. I’m not worried about your pack.” She turns and nods to the man hovering in the opening of the area Stiles is tied in. 

He steps forward and Stiles’s heart sinks a bit. He expects the first punch, the one that breaks his nose, and the one to his ribs that cracks at least one of them. “Alpha Benson said I have to keep you alive. She didn’t say I had to keep you pretty.” He did not expect to be kneed in the groin. Stiles leans over and vomits with pain. The man chuckles when he leaves Stiles alone, bruised in more places than not.

Stiles keeps his feet for as long as he can. Everytime he jerks on the ropes, the needling, burning pain overtakes the other pain of standing and being awake and he straightens himself with effort. His blood drips onto the floor, a splash of color in the grey. Stiles retreats into his head and runs his awareness over the pack bonds again in desperation. They’re muted, even the one with Derek, and Stiles tries to reach out to them, to send some kind of feeling, but he can’t. Stiles, heartsick and weary, takes a deep breath and prays.

There are windows at the top of the warehouse on one side of the ceiling so Stiles knows that the sun sets and evening comes. There are faint red lines on his arms, mistletoe poisoning starting to creep up from his wrists. He looks down and sees similar lines coming up from his ankles. No one else comes to see him, to offer him food or water or to use him as a punching bag. Stiles has lost all track of time when someone finally does show up. He’s relieved it’s the witch with the braids, but his relief is short lived. 

“You are a pretty one. It’s too bad you run with wolves. Nasty creatures.” She wrinkles her nose.

Stiles bares his teeth at her and growls, the most wolf-like thing he can do.

She does not look impressed. “You are not what I was expecting, Stiles Stilinski, Druid to Wolves.”

“Why would I be anything other than what I am? Squishy, bruisable human.” Stiles rolls his eyes. He’s not sure where this is going, but he doesn’t think it’s anywhere good for him. 

The witch laughs. “Is that what you think? That we nabbed you because you were  _ easy _ ? You know I heard you were smart, but that is the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard in my life.”

“I get kidnapped a lot, lady. It’s always because I’m the easiest target.”

She shakes her head. “Idiot. We took the contract to kidnap you for the foxes, even though I hate them, because you were a challenge. The McCall Pack is gaining a reputation, not only because of all the freaks you have in your circle but because you are the druid who healed a Nemeton and people who cross you come back scared and the others don’t come back at all.”

Stiles can see she’s telling the truth, but he can’t believe the words. He’s spent the better part of the last few years being the weak link in the pack, the one everyone protected and shielded from the worst of the fighting. He never let them be his shield for long, but that was why he always ended up bruised and battered. 

_ Case in point, right fucking now, _ he thinks. His nose is swollen and it hurts to breathe through it. It hurts to breathe, period. He’s fairly certain it’s because some of his ribs are broken and the skin on the lacerations on his chest are swollen and painful. 

“Once we hand you back to your pack, word will get around that there are some witches who took you down and we’ll be able to command a high price for our services.” She moves closer to him, not close enough that he can slam his head into hers, but she could touch him if she wanted.

Anger, white and hot leaches from him. “If I ever get out of here, I will hunt all of you down and you will wish you were dead. If you hurt any of my Pack when they come in here, I will follow you to the ends of the earth to take from you what you take from me. No one hurts what is mine and that pack is  _ mine _ . If I don’t make it out of here alive, Derek Hale will tear your psycho heads from all your bodies.” 

Stiles lets his eyes go empty and dull, the kind of eyes that tell other people that this person is capable of remorseless violence then he lets his tattoos flare to life, writhing and glowing. He can’t do anything else with his power though, other than glow. The metal and poisoned ropes are doing their job and even this small display drains him and leaves him dizzy.

The witch pales and steps back, her mouth flattening into a straight line. She puts her hand in her pocket and pulls out some powder. Stiles thinks she’s going to spell him back to sleep and he welcomes it, but the minute the powder hits his face it feels like thorns of acid penetrating his skin. He screams in shock.

“A little hawthorn and mistletoe powder for you. Not enough to kill you, yet, but I’ll be surprised if you last another day. I hope your wolves find you in time.”

Her voice is far away through the pain and Stiles tries desperately to build up some walls against it, but it rolls on and on over him and he finally gives into the urge to whimper as tears fall out of his burning eyes.


	12. Chapter 12

Derek gets a call from Lydia while he is at Liam and Theo’s office.

“Is Stiles with you?” she says without preamble.

A feeling he couldn’t put his finger on for the last couple of hours swirls and grows into unease in his gut. “No. He told me he was meeting you and Sophia at the firing range.”

“He was supposed to be here two hours ago. He’s not answering his phone.” Lydia’s voice catches.

“Lydia, do you have a feeling about Stiles?” Derek’s throat threatens to close up, but he breathes through it.

He can hear Lydia swallow through the phone. “Not yet, but something is wrong.”

“Call Scott, tell him to meet me at my house. I’m leaving now.” Derek is out the door and in his truck before he swipes to hang up the phone.

Derek presses into his connection to Stiles. The connection is usually vibrant and pulsing blue green in his mind, but it’s clouded, muted in a way it hasn’t been for years. The bile in his stomach threatens to force its way up and Derek breathes through his mouth to try to get his emotions under control. He can’t lose Stiles now when he just got him. Derek thinks of how soft Stiles was when he’d left him this morning, hair rumpled from sleep and eyes half open, and the steering wheel creaks under his grip, knuckles white and claws threatening to appear.

The tires of his truck slide as Derek takes the turnoff that goes to the house he shares with Stiles a little too fast. The last couple of weeks were the best of his life and Derek can feel them slipping between his fingers like water in a river. He slams on the brakes and parks before throwing himself out of the truck. The moment his feet touch the ground he knows Stiles isn’t here even though the Jeep is sitting in the driveway. 

Derek doesn’t move. He lifts his nose in the air and pulls in a lungful of air through his nose, letting all the scents in the area roll through him. There’s nothing that shouldn’t be here. Just himself, Stiles, and DerekandStiles together. His heart twists in his chest and he opens his eyes to look around. That’s when he sees it.

Stiles’s cell phone is laying face down on the ground in front of the porch. Derek’s fingers tremble as he reaches out to pick it up. He flips it over and wakes it up. A selfie Stiles took of them on a camping trip last year shines up at him. They’re sitting on a log together. Stiles has just shoved a marshmallow in his mouth and is trying to feed one to Derek who is looking at Stiles, not the camera. They are both laughing. Derek breathes past the pain and wills his fingers to loosen on the phone. Derek swipes his fingers over the bottom of the phone. Stiles had insisted on making one of the security fingerprints on his phone Derek’s. Just in case, Stiles had said.

Derek swallows and wonders what the last thing was on the phone. The phone opens to the audio recorder. Derek steels himself and presses play. The phone had been laying face down in the dirt so the sound is muffled. Derek turns the volume up and then has no trouble making out the conversation with his werewolf ears. 

_ “Is that the Spark?” _ a voice asks.

_ “Would the net be burning his skin like that if he was the wolf?”  _ a male voice replies.

Stiles’s voice comes over the small speaker. It sounds wrong. He’s in pain. Derek’s entire body tenses for a fight, his instincts telling him to run, to protect.  _ “You don’t want me. I’m just a human.”  _

A woman’s voice, _ “Just a human he says. It took all six of us a week to make a hole big enough in your wards for all of us to get through. Even now, I feel like ants are crawling in my skull. Human my ass. Those foxes didn’t tell us enough when we took this job. They definitely didn’t pay us enough.” _

One of the men again. _ “Shut your mouth. The less he knows the better. We aren’t sure what he can do and what we do know is bad enough. Les, you’re up.” _

There is nothing for about thirty seconds, then Stiles is cursing, fear and anger in his tone.  _ “Shit.” _

Lydia and Sophia pull up at the same time as Scott. All of them get out of their cars, ready for a fight. Scott’s eyes are serious and his hands are fisted by his side.

Scott takes one look at Derek and says, “What happened?”

“Wiches, I think.” Derek plays the audio back for them.

“The Benson Pack hired six witches to get Stiles so they could come for us.” Lydia crosses her arms and there is violence and death in her eyes. “He’s fine, right now. I still don’t have any feelings about him.” She reassures Derek.

Scott smells the air then looks at Derek. “I can’t smell them.”

Lydia shakes her head. “We won’t be able to track them that way. They said in the recording they were cloaked. They were using a spell to keep themselves hidden. That’s why we didn’t know they were here and why the wards didn’t sound the alarm right away.” 

“They said it took six of them to break Stiles’s wards.” Derek doesn’t know if he should be proud of Stiles or scared to death for him.

Lydia tilts her head to the side. “They knew they were coming for Stiles. It wasn’t the wolves they were after. They came prepared, which means they had something that would incapacitate Stiles. The question is what do they want?”

“If it was just revenge, they would have killed him and left the body.” Even though the words are true, the reality of how fragile everything is, a lesson he’s learned over and over in his life, slams into Derek, making him see stars for the span of a heartbeat. He’s so fucking sick of losing people he loves.

Scott’s hand wraps around the back of Derek’s neck, and Scott squeezes hard enough to bruise a human. The feeling grounds Derek. Scott says, “We’re getting him back and we’re getting him back alive.”

“They wanted me.” Everyone looks at Sophia. “They weren’t here for revenge, you said. My old pack hired them. They were here for me. I know how Alyssa thinks. She’ll try to trade Stiles for me, but she’s not going to be picky about how they return him because she doesn’t really care how I’m returned either.”

“Will they kill him?” Lydia asks, the one who always has death on her shoulder.

Sophia nods. “It’s a possibility.”

Derek sucks in a breath. Scott points at Lydia. “Call the rest of the pack, emergency protocol. Derek and I are going to look around and see if there is anything we missed now that we know we’re dealing with witches.”

“What about me?” Sophia asks.

“Make a list of everything you can think of that might help us, including who Alyssa would bring if she was coming for us.” Scott slides his hand from Derek’s neck.

Derek swallows and starts looking for clues, walking in expanding circles from where he found the phone.

Thirty minutes later, Derek is convinced that there’s nothing to find by the house. It’s like Stiles and the witches have vanished in thin air and, while he knows that is technically possible, he knows that’s not what happened here. The only thing they did find was the place on the ground where it looks like Stiles was pinned down from something, the place where he’d found Stiles’s cell.

By the time they get to the Hale House, everyone is in the living room. Lydia has the rolling white board pulled from Stiles’s back room and a fistful of markers. She’s ready to take notes. Derek plays the recording again, trying to keep his panic at bay, even when he hears the last word Stiles says come through the small speaker. 

“Derek and I didn’t find anything at the house. There weren't that many signs of a struggle, nothing was singed, and none of the earth was disturbed, so we have to assume they’ve found a way to neutralize Stiles’s magic,” Scott says.

Derek nods. “The witches masked their presence once they were inside the wards, but they may not have been cloaking themselves before that. We will check the perimeter in twos, looking for scents that are out of place, especially ozone.”

“We know there are six witches, but we don’t know how many foxes Alyssa will be bringing with her.” Scott moves to stand by Derek, placing his hand around Derek’s arm in silent support. “Sophia, what do you have for us?”

Sophia is clutching a paper in her hands. Derek can smell her fear, cloying and heavy, across the room from where she sits on the couch. Malia puts an arm around her and Em mirrors the movement from the other side. Sophia takes a deep breath. “She won’t come alone. If I’m what she wants, she’ll use Stiles as leverage, but, like I said before, she won’t care about returning him in one piece. She’ll be willing to kill him for little to no reason. She enjoys causing pain, so don’t count on her mercy. She doesn’t have any.”

Derek’s anger and terror tighten into determination. He needs a direction to point this feeling, something breakable that he can feel snap between his hands.

“How many people will she bring with her for something like this?” Scott asks.

Sophia looks at him with wide eyes. “She’ll only bring people she trusts and she also has the witches. Maybe four. She sent six before, but she’ll likely be counting on the witches to take care of Stiles.” Sophia’s chin wobbles. “This is all my fault. Just give me to her.”

“No.” Scott’s eyes are red. “Do you want to go back?”

Sophia shakes her head and tears fall down her cheeks. 

“Then you’re not going back and we’re getting back Stiles. Alive.” Derek growls the last word and he knows his eyes flash blue.

Scott points at Derek and Isaac. “You two do the first patrol.”

Derek protests. “I want to stay here. To plan.”

Scott puts a hand on his shoulder. “I know you also need to be doing something productive. Running the perimeter and searching for the entry point will keep you busy. Check in every thirty minutes and be back here in four hours. Drop a pin where you leave off and Liam and Theo will go next, then Malia and Cora. Em, Sophia, Lydia, and I will hash out a plan and canvas the areas around the houses in case we missed something.”

Lydia walks up to the white board. “Stiles isn’t here, so you’re going to have to make do with me. Let’s make a list of what we know.”

It’s a depressingly short list. 

Derek tries not to dwell on how short that list is as he and Isaac leave the house. They make a beeline along the long drive that leads to the Hale house, cross the two lane highway, and keep going into the woods until they reach the edge of the territory. It’s nothing visible to the eyes, but Derek and Isaac can feel it, a shifting where the land ceases to be theirs and just becomes there. Derek opens all his senses, smell, sight, hearing, and the other. They move at a slow jog, the kind that eats up miles, breathing in the air and hoping to find something, anything. Isaac checks in with Scott every thirty minutes. After four hours they’ve found nothing. 

“One more hour.” Derek moves around a tree, feeling for something different in the wards, anything that will indicate where the witches came in. There’s no changes in the Preserve’s wards.

Isaac doesn’t say anything, but he texts Scott and follows after Derek. Derek tunes out the sound of Isaac and presses on. The sun slips behind the trees and the shadows lengthen. 

“Derek.” Isaac’s hand is on Derek’s arm. “We need to go back.Someone else will take over. We can’t help Stiles if we drive ourselves into the ground.”

He knows Isaac is right. Knows he needs to go back to the house, get some food and water and maybe some rest. Get off his feet. But all he can think about is the look on Sophia’s face when she said they should not expect Alyssa to have any mercy or return Stiles alive. Derek would sacrifice anything to get Stiles back in one piece, give everything he owns, any part of himself. 

Isaac’s hand tightens. “We’re getting him back.”

Derek swallows and nods, unable to speak. They head back to the house, no closer to finding Stiles than when they left. Liam and Theo pass them as they jog back. They stop, compare notes, then split off. When they get back the entire house smells like cookies and there are warm sandwiches, fruit, and huge glasses of water waiting for them. Melissa is in the kitchen with Sophia making double chocolate chip and peanut butter cookies. Derek blinks a couple extra times. Those are Stiles’s favorite. 

As if she can read his mind, Melissa says, “We’ll save some in a container for when Stiles gets home.” 

Melissa wraps Derek up in a hug. It’s been a long time since Derek really missed his mom, longed for her to comfort that small part of him that always remains small and needs to know that all will be well after a hug and a kiss. Derek lets out a shuddering breath and the tears he’s been swallowing down all day spill over. Melissa rubs her hand down his spine.

“Oh, kiddo. He’ll be okay. Our Stiles is tough as nails and is fighting as hard to get back to you as you are fighting to find him. Eat something then try to get some rest. You’ll feel better.”

Derek nods and does as he’s told, wrapped in the feeling of being mothered. He grabs a plate of food, a glass of water, and wanders into the living room where Lydia and Scott are still talking. The white board is covered in Lydia's precise handwriting but Derek isn’t sure what the big picture is in all the details. That’s what he needs Stiles around for. That and the way Stiles’s eyes light up whenever Derek comes into the room like Derek invented air. His chest hurts and Scott looks up, eyebrows raised.

Derek shakes his head, shoves a corner of the sandwich into his mouth and sinks heavily into the couch. He lets Isaac give Scott a report, which is really a whole lot of nothing. The sandwich tastes like sand in his mouth and Derek forces himself to chew and swallow, takes another bite and repeats the process until his plate is empty.

Derek knows Stiles isn’t dead. He can feel Stiles alive somewhere, even if the feeling is muted by magic or distance or fucking something. Derek wraps his awareness around that small sliver of hope and curls his entire body around it. He sits and listens to the others, concentrating on Stiles, and tries to be hopeful the way Stiles would want him to be.

The night progresses and Theo and Liam come back shortly after Malia and Cora leave. From their long faces, Derek knows they found nothing and his heart starts to stutter and it hurts, the knowledge, that this time Derek might fail at the thing he desperately needs to do. Save Stiles. Derek paces and can’t settle after that.

Everyone gives him a wide berth though they take care to run their hands on him as he paces by around the living room, through the kitchen, to the back workroom, running his hands over the spines of the books in the library, and back again. The futility of waiting is eating at him, one miniscule bite at a time and Derek wonders how long before he is consumed whole without even noticing. Aside from driving around town with his head out the window, he can’t think of a single good idea. Stiles and the witches may not even  _ be _ in town anymore.

Derek sinks to the floor of the library, in the corner that Stiles favors, the place in the room that smells most like the man he loves desperately, fiercely and presses his forehead to his knees and waits. 

In the early hours of the morning, before the sun is up, Scott bursts through the door of the library. “Cora and Malia found something.”

Derek is on his feet so fast he’s lightheaded for a minute. “Where?”

“South end of the Preserve. I have my keys, we’ll drive as close as we can, then run the rest of the way.”

They pile into Scott’s SUV, leaving Em and Sophia behind at the house just in case. The house is warded and they can enclose themselves in mountain ash if needed. Derek has to make himself stay calm. He channels the hurricane of emotions into focus. He’s never had this much trouble staying calm in a crisis. Stiles has been taken before, but never from inside their wards, from within their territory and that has lodged a spike of real fear in Derek’s heart.

They launch themselves out of the vehicle the moment Scott parks it and start running through the woods. They find Malia and Cora about five minutes later. Derek throws his senses open wide and he can feel the place the wards were damaged. It’s not a precise knowledge, he could not even explain how he knows, they just feel, damaged, weak. This part of the warding isn’t secure and his instincts know it. Malia and Cora are talking to Scott, but Derek is busy inspecting the area. 

He flicks his eyes to blue and looks at the ground. He can see six sets of footprints. He squats down and smells the air. There are light scents in the air and on the ground of people who do not belong here and the tingling ozone smell of magic. They would have had to use magic to cloak themselves the entire time they were in the Preserve.

Scott rests a hand on his shoulder. “Is it enough to find them?”

Derek nods, entire body aching to go.

“Isaac, Liam, and Malia. Follow the trail with Derek and see where it leads. If you find them, text the rest of us. Do not engage until the entire pack is there. No matter how much you want to.” Scott flashes red eyes at Derek when he says the last part. “If we go in too early without a plan, we could do more harm than good.”

Derek nods. He knows he can’t go in half prepared no matter how many of his instincts will tell him otherwise. 

They follow the trail south, then it veers sharply toward the road. The witches had parked a vehicle here and left in it. Derek waits while Malia calls and has Theo bring them a vehicle. Derek does end up with his head out the window, but so do Malia and Isaac while Liam drives the SUV towards town. They have to back track a couple of times, finding the trail this way is tough but the smell of ozone persists and is unique enough that they have little trouble following it. 

Derek keeps a finger of awareness on the thread that connects him to Stiles, testing it for changes as they drive and search. Nothing about the connection changes. It’s still muted and Derek can’t get a read on if they're getting closer or farther away. The only thing he can sense for certain is that Stiles is alive. That knowledge is not as comforting as it should be since Derek doesn’t know what condition Stiles is in and how much longer he’ll stay that way. 

The ozone leads them into the warehouse district because of course it does. Tucked away in the middle of one block is a warehouse where the scent ends abruptly. They circle the block a couple of times. They peer down an ally as they pass it. There are a handful of cars parked there, nicer than they should be for the area and out of place. 

“I think we found them,” Isaac says. 

“I’ll call Scott. Liam, take us back to the house.” Malia pulls out her phone. 

Derek can hear the heartbeats in the building and one of them pounds inside his head. It’s not as fast as it was when he was younger, but Derek knows the sound of it like he knows his own face in the mirror. Stiles is alive and inside, yards away.

Derek’s hands are tight on the dash and his breathing is jagged. His heart ratchets up. He knows they have to leave and come back.  _ He knows. _ But the farther the car gets from the warehouse the less air he can get into his lungs and the more he wants to jump out of the moving vehicle and run back to where Stiles is being kept. Held against his will.

Stiles.

Isaac cups Derek’s face and turns it towards him. “Derek. We’re going to go back. We have to get the others. If we go in alone, we’ll die and then we can’t save him. We’re going to get him back. He’s alive. We’ll be back soon. We need to plan.”

Isaac leans his forehead against Derek’s. “Breathe with me. In and out. Slow and steady. Alpha, beta, omega. In and out. Alpha, beta, omega.”

Derek wills himself to listen to the words and to breathe with them. He places his hands over Isaac’s and squeezes when he feels like he can talk again. 

“Thank you.” Derek’s panic has been replaced by an icy calm.


	13. Chapter 13

By the time they get to the Pack House, Lydia has a full blown plan sketched out on the white board. While Isaac was calming Derek down, Malia had sent pictures and specs of the warehouse ahead. Derek had been too stuck in his own head to notice.

It doesn’t take long before they are back at the warehouse. It feels like they’ve done this a thousand times, hunting something that leads to some kind of abandoned building somewhere. The pack is spread out and ready to go in. Everyone has their job to do, exits are covered, and Cora has a full med kit in the back of Derek’s truck. Melissa has been alerted that they may have incoming tonight to the hospital. Everything is ready. 

The pack surges toward the warehouse.

Em and Malia are the best at sneaking around corners so they go in the front door. The minute they step through the doorway, there is a small explosion and they are thrown back.

“There’s wards,” Malia says in a regular voice, knowing everyone can all hear them.

“Should be busted now,” Scott replies.

Derek’s claws are already out. He’s on the backside of the building. “Now they know we’re here.”

“Go.” The command comes from Scott, and Derek focuses on his task. Find Stiles. Get him out. 

There’s a door on the backside of the warehouse, a few yards down from the delivery dock, and Derek slips inside. The door creaks in the morning air, but there are sounds of fighting already coming from inside. No one is going to pay attention to some squeaky hinges. He’s come into an office space. Grey cubicle partitions and sagging ceiling tiles hang down. There are wires dangling in one corner. No one has been in here for some time.

Derek moves out of that room and into a hallway. One end leads to the loading dock, he can smell fresh air down that way. The other end leads into the warehouse. Derek turns to go into the warehouse, scenting the air for any trace of Stiles. It’s faint but there, a hint of green in the sea of grey, and Derek sprints for it.

The hallway ends at a door. There’s fighting on the other side and Derek braces himself as he launches though it. It opens into a large space with high ceilings. The open space is broken up by pallets of boxes and stacks of crates. In the corner nearest to him, there are some cubicle partitions set up and Derek feels a pull in that direction. He spares one glance at the rest of the space. His pack is holding their own and Derek has a different job.

He runs, low and fast, darting behind boxes, following the green scent and the pull in his breast bone. The closer he gets to the partition the more he’s certain of two things. Stiles is behind those flimsy walls and he’s badly injured. Derek’s pace quickens until he’s running full tilt through the gaps between the partitions. He gets one glimpse at Stiles bound with shimmering rope and beaten, before agony lances through him. 

Stiles yells, but everything is muffled with pain. Derek whirls in a circle, looking for who or what is attaching him but there’s nothing. He shakes himself, the pain is already fading, and runs to Stiles. His nose is broken and both his eyes are dark purple. There’s blood from the broken nose on his face and chest. He’s been stripped down to his boxers, which are stiff with blood. There are bruises, deep and purple over Stiles’s ribs and claw marks on his chest. Angry, red streaks radiate from his wrists and ankles towards his torso.

Derek is growling and he doesn’t know what he wants to do first, kill the person that did this or get Stiles down.

“I knew you’d come.” Stiles’s voice is raspy and weak. “Sorry I couldn’t warn you fast enough about the defensive wards.” 

Derek wraps his hand around the shining rope at Stiles’s wrist.

“Wait,” Stiles warns him weakly.

Derek’s hand burns and he yanks it back.

“Hemlock, mistletoe, silver, and iron. Poisonous. You’ll need bolt cutters.” Stiles’s voice is still quiet.

The panic sets in swiftly. Derek does not want to leave Stiles here. Stiles must sense his indecision. “Go. Go get the bolt cutters out of the truck. It sounds like the pack is keeping everyone busy.”

Derek nods and turns to go, then steps back into Stiles and cups his face, laying a gentle kiss on his lips. The fear clawing at him rips up his resolve as Derek runs back the way he came. He can’t get the image of Stiles tied up out of his mind and his nose is still filled with the acrid scent of Stiles wounded, poisoned, and slowly dying.

Derek makes it back to his truck and flips open the back and the tailgate with hard jerks that have the metal groaning. He leaps into the back of the truck, grabs the bolt cutters, and runs back, his heart pounding in his chest and fear an acid churning in his stomach.

This time, when he gets to the open area of the warehouse, a fox in beta form steps into his path. Derek doesn’t even break stride. He swings the bolt cutters and catches the were in the temple and keeps moving. 

The wards don’t bother him this time since Derek exhausted their magic the first time he came through. Stiles holds himself as still as he can, but he’s shaking by the time Derek reaches him and slips the bolt cutters around the rope. As soon as Derek severs the rope on Sties’s left wrist his arm flops down. Derek moves and does the next arm, angling his own body so Stiles can lean against him. 

“Can you stand on your own enough to let me cut the ones on your ankles?”

Stiles nods and straightens himself. Derek can see what the movement costs him and he wants to rip something to shreds. He cuts the ropes at Stiles’s ankles and catches Stiles before he can sink to the ground. Derek pulls pain from Stiles as he sweeps him into a bridal carry. Stiles’s breath catches.

“I’m sorry. I’m trying not to jostle your ribs too much.” Derek’s hands tighten.

The sounds of fighting have died down when Derek exits the partitioned area. Scott has the other alpha on the ground under his claws. There are bodies everywhere. 

Scott looks up and sees them. “You got him, then?”

Derek nods. “We’re going to the hospital.”

“We’re almost finished here. We’ll meet you there.” Scott leans down and starts talking to Alpha Benson. 

Derek doesn’t wait around to listen. He trusts Scott and the rest to take care of whatever is left of the threat. Stiles’s breath is hitching and Derek can smell the salty tears rolling down Stiles’s face, making tracks in the blood. Derek lays Stiles on the pile of blankets in the back of the truck. He hates to leave him there even while he drives.

Stiles wraps his hand around Derek’s wrist. “I’ll be fine back here.”

Derek nods and closes the tailgate and the top and sucks in a lungful of air at the sight of Stiles broken, laying there. The mix of relief and fear dog him as he drives. He calls Melissa.

He opens without preamble when she picks up. “I got Stiles. We’re on our way to you. He’s got a broken nose, a couple broken ribs, some bad claw marks in his chest, and a lot of other bruising. Call Deaton. I think he’s been poisoned.”

“See you soon. We’ll be ready,” Melissa says and Derek swipes to end the call.

Melissa is waiting for them with a gurney outside of the emergency room when Derek pulls into the hospital parking lot. When he opens the back, he can hear Melissa’s heartbeat kick up and her smell develops a tinge of fear. Outward, she is calm and soothing. Stiles tries to sit up, but hisses with pain.

Derek climbs into the back of the truck and scoops Stiles up, pulling more of his pain as Stiles rubs his broken and bloody face into Derek’s shoulder. When Derek gets out of the back of the truck, he stands by the gurney and he can’t put Stiles on it. He doesn’t want to break the physical contact with the other man.

Melissa rests her hand on Derek’s where he’s gripping Stiles. “We’ll be in room one thirty seven. Park the car, come in, and you can sit in the room to fill out the paperwork. Go.”

Derek leans over the gurney and lays Stiles down as gently as he can, still pulling pain from him.

“Don’t worry, Sourwolf. Momma McCall will take good care of me.” Stiles runs his fingers through Derek’s hair. “I knew you’d come.” Then Stiles closes his eyes.

Derek looks at Stiles and Melissa one last time as she wheels the gurney away. He parks the truck in the first spot he finds and is locking the door when Deaton pulls up. Derek fills him in as best he can, explaining what the rope looked like. 

“There were red streaks going up his arms and legs towards his torso. The ones on his arm were almost to his shoulder. The ones on his legs were above his knees. It looked like the black poisoning of wolfsbane in weres,” Derek tells the vet and they walk.

Deaton listens and is silent, per usual, but nods thoughtfully. Derek knows not to ask what Deaton is thinking. There’s no way that question can be phrased that will result in a straightforward or precise answer. 

When they get to the room, the door is closed. Derek can hear the doctor talking to Melissa as he examines Stiles. Derek knocks then opens the door. 

The doctor turns to the door, a scowl on her face. “No visitors yet,” she barks.

“Please let him stay,” Stiles says from the bed.

Melissa speaks up. “This is Derek. I told you he’d want to stay.”

The doctor sighs. “Fine but the other one leaves.”

Deaton nods and backs out of the room. “I’ll wait for the others.”

Derek tucks himself into the corner, out of the way, and keeps his eyes focused on Stiles. He can feel him again, the connection is bright and blue-green in his mind, but he can feel Stiles’s pain and Derek aches with it and the need to touch the other man. He wants to reassure them both that they made it through this intact.

Another nurse comes in after the doctor leaves and he helps Melissa get Stiles cleaned up while they wait for Stiles to be wheeled back for chest x-rays. When the tech comes to take Stiles, Derek stands up. What he intends to do, he isn’t sure until Stiles raises his hand in Derek’s direction and Derek goes, as if pulled.

“Be here when I get back?” Stiles asks.

“I’ll be right here.” Derek kisses Stiles’s forehead and breathes in his scent even if it’s covered with the medical scent of the hospital.

Derek settles into the hard hospital couch in the room after they take Stiles and he waits.


	14. Chapter 14

The doctor tells Stiles he has three broken ribs, a broken nose, he’s severely dehydrated, and he needs some glue for the lacerations on his chest. The doctor and Melissa fix the claw marks on his chest. They don’t have to make up any excuses for the injuries. After Monroe and Gerard, the town knows that the best way to fight monsters is to keep some good ones close because those good ones tend to get injured a lot. 

It takes time for the doctor and Melissa to get him glued back together, his nose straightened, and his ribs wrapped. They give him an IV for the dehydration and Stiles should be feeling infinitely better by this point. 

He’s not.

With the ropes off he can feel the poison that seeped into his veins and it’s still there, insidious, moving through his body. It saps his strength and he sleeps most of the first day.

Stiles wakes up once and there’s a dark head resting on his bed with a hand covering his own. He would know that head anywhere, the curve of Derek’s jaw and the arch of his cheeks. Stiles’s eyes sweep the room and his dad is awake on the couch.

“Hey, pops,” Stiles tries to give him a smile through the exhaustion.

His dad gets up and runs a hand over his forehead. “You gave us a bit of a scare.”

“I don’t feel much better,” Stiles admits.

Derek’s hand tightens on his own and Stiles knows the wolf is awake.

His dad nods, frowning. “Deaton isn’t sure how to burn the poison out of your body. It’s not a bullet wound or some other standard entry point. He said not to worry about the scratches from the Alpha, said your magic would fight off any... long-term effects.”

Derek lifts his head and looks at Stiles, gorgeous blue and green eyes filled with worry and naked emotion. It steals the air from his lungs and Stiles cards his fingers through Derek’s hair. 

“There’s a healing spell I’ve been researching that I could try.” Stiles looks between them both and wonders which one will ask the question that’s kept him from trying the spell.

In the end, it’s Derek. “You haven’t tried it yet, which means you either aren’t sure you can do it or it has some side effects that may not be pleasant.”

“Bit of both, actually. I need to talk to Deaton.”

Stiles struggles to stay awake while they call Deaton, the short conversation with Derek and his dad took most of his energy. There’s a bone aching weariness that is starting to seep into him. Stiles doesn’t mince words when they get Deaton on the phone.

“The poisoning is getting worse.”

There’s silence for a moment. “I had hoped your body would neutralize the poison on its own.”

“Well, considering the amount of magic they poured into those ropes—really clever and diabolical, by the way, I’m thinking of making my own—I think that’s part of the spell. I think there might be a way I can heal myself.” Stiles explains the spell to Deaton.

“That may work, but if it doesn’t, it will deplete your reserves completely.”

“But it could work, right?”

“In theory, yes.”

“Always a bucket of optimism. Thanks Deaton.”

“Be careful, Stiles.”

Derek’s hand is tight on his own when Stiles swipes his phone to end the call. “Are there any side effects you aren’t telling us?”

Stiles sighs. “Honestly, I’m not sure. I haven’t bothered with many healing spells because most of the pack doesn’t need them and I’m the one who’s usually getting hurt. I’d just started really digging into them a few days ago. The problem is that I’m using weakened energy reserves to heal myself and it’s not easy to just pull energy from other sources without causing some harm.”

His dad’s expression is closed and serious. “Explain the harm part.”

Stiles nods. “Think of all living things like a battery—pull too much and the battery is exhausted. If you pull from something small, a plant, you could drain it’s life force completely. If you pull from a person, same effect. You could cause permanent harm. The spells I’ve been doing up until now create a sort of feedback loop between me and the Preserve, a give and take that mixes the power from both.”

“But this spell would just be a taking because your own magic is low,” Derek says, voice rough.

“Exactly. It’s not how druid magic is supposed to be done and it’s a path I’ve been unwilling to try just for the sake of trying because it’s destructful. Now though…” Stiles trails off.

“Now, it’s more serious,” his dad says.

“Now, its life or death,” Stiles agrees. There’s a sick feeling in his stomach. He’d be more willing to do this to save someone else.

“You have to do it.” There’s a command in Derek’s voice that says there’ll be no argument on this point.

“If I want to live, I think so.”

In the end, they check Stiles out of the hospital against the doctor’s orders. Stiles wants to be outside for this. If he can master this spell, he should be able to heal himself in the future, nothing as fast as werewolf healing, but something to keep him from being a liability if he gets injured, which is way too often for his taste.

Every bump the truck goes over jostles his ribs and Stiles has to bite back a groan. Derek reaches out and black lines snake up Derek’s arm. Stiles sinks back into the seat.

“Man, that’s the good stuff.”

“Where do you want to go? Do I need to call anyone else?” Derek asks as they make the turn into the Preserve.

“I’d like to go to our house and sit in the yard, if that’s okay. I don’t think we need to call anyone else. This isn’t going to go sideways in a Stiles-Might-Die way. This could go sideways in a I-Kill-The-Flowers-In-The-Flowerbed-or-Maybe-A-Stray-Squirrel way.”

Derek’s hands ease on the steering wheel. “Good. I’m willing to sacrifice the flowers, but not the squirrels. They're cute.”

Stiles laughs. “Glad to know where I rank.”

Derek is smiling and giving Stiles little sideways glances. “What?” Stiles asks, tired of trying to figure out what has Derek blushing.

Derek’s ears turn a darker shade of red. “You called it our house.”

Everything in Stiles softens. “You’re a secret romantic, Derek Hale.”

Derek shrugs but doesn’t deny it. He parks the car on the gravel area next to the house and turns to face Stiles. “The last three weeks have been the best of my life.”

“Are you turning into a softiewolf?”

Derek rolls his eyes but leans forward and gives Stiles a leisurely kiss, open mouthed and tangled tongues. Derek pulls back and says, “You know you can’t just put adjectives in front of wolf.”

Stiles grins wide. “I think I can. I think I will.”

“You ready to try this?” Derek runs his hand through Stiles hair and over the back of his head to wrap his hand around Stiles neck and bring their foreheads together. 

Stiles pulls on the connection between them and glows with life, the connection deep and strong, now that the witches’ magic isn’t muffling it. “I’m ready.”

Stiles gets out of the truck and walks to the middle of the yard. The sun is shining and he sits, cross legged, in a patch of grass and sun. Everything smells like warm growing things and Stiles’s magic is already reaching out to the Preserve. The curl of it as it wraps around him is like a blanket warm from the dryer and Stiles sinks into it, opening himself up to the life of the Preserve. Derek settles on the ground in front of him.

Derek takes Stiles’s hands in his. “Is this okay?”

Stiles winks at Derek and leans forward to place a kiss on the corner of Derek’s mouth. “Of course.”

Stiles takes a deep breath and focuses inward, looking for the infection in his blood. It’s there, shadows where there should only be light, and Stiles puts mental markers on it. His blood has more darkness than light and if he doesn’t do this, it will continue to eat at his energy until there is nothing left. Stiles’s hands tighten on Derek’s.

“I have an idea.”

“Another one?” Derek asks.

“Instead of pulling all the power from one thing, I can try to pull from everything at once.” There is a risk in this and Stiles doesn’t share that part, but Derek is too smart.

“What happens if it overloads your capacity to hold that much power?”

Stiles thins his mouth into a line and puffs out a breath. “Let’s hope that doesn’t happen.”

“What would happen, Stiles?”

“It could burn me up, metaphorically or literally, I’m not sure.”

Derek frowns and Stiles finds it adorable. “Don’t let it get that far.”

“Okay, bossywolf.”

Derek tightens his grip on Stiles’s hands and Stiles closes his eyes to concentrate. He blows out a breath, opening himself up, then pulling in a breath and pulling in the power of the Preserve. He can feel everything, like when he healed the Nemeton, and even with his eyes closed he can see green light. He cracks his lids open. His arms are glowing bright, the vines writhing and growing. Stiles can feel them moving up his arms and blooming over his back. He closes his eyes again and tries to spindle the power of the Preserve and the residual power of the Pack in the land.

It wraps over and over itself, the flow of the energy increasing until it’s less a trickle and more of a cascading waterfall, covering him so he can barely breathe. Just when he thinks he’ll drown, Derek increases the pressure on his hands and everything slams to a stop. Panting, Stiles harnesses the power he’s gathered and shoves it into his blood, searching and burning through the poison. It’s not unlike burning wolfsbane from one of the were’s wounds. The pain is a fire that licks through him relentlessly, and Stiles is unable to keep the whining noise he makes inside. His body starts to shake as he struggles to work through the fierce pain and the flood of power. He can feel the skin on his chest reknitting. It aches and feels like needles in his flesh. There’s a sharp pain in his torso where his ribs heal and Stiles is nauseous and lightheaded and the power continues to flood his system. 

Derek’s grip on his hands is relentless and it grounds Stiles, who is starting to feel like he might float away into a sea of power. With a jolt, Stiles realizes three things: He is completely healed, he needs to shut off the waterfall of power before he drowns, and Derek is his anchor. Stiles latches his mind onto Derek’s presence, allowing it to ground him and drag him to the surface.

It works and Stiles closes the door on the power pulsing into him from the Preserve. He can still feel it, the heartbeat of the Preserve, and Stiles gathers it to him like a lover. The Preserve was already tangled with his magic and now Stiles thinks his Spark will always have a flare of magic from this land. It’s how a druid and land should be entangled, life growing from the magic of both protector and land. 

Stiles opens his eyes and sees his tattoos are still glowing but they aren’t blinding anymore. Derek is holding onto him, still grounding him with his touch.

Derek is watching him like he might explode or disappear. “I think you’re healed. I can’t smell the poison or the pain from your other injuries anymore.” 

Stiles pulls his hands out of Derek’s grip and yanks his shirt over his head. The vines on his arms have spread over the top part of his chest, a vibrant green that pulse slightly with residual magic. The claw marks are completely gone, not even a scar to mark their existence. Stiles takes a deep breath and doesn’t feel the pulling of his ribs or the sharp pain when he fills his lungs. 

Stiles nods, a grin breaking over his face. “I think you’re right. Damn. I. Am. Good.”

Derek rolls his eyes. “Great, now you’ll be even more insufferable.”

Stiles kisses him, tasting Derek’s mouth and sliding into Derek’s lap. “You love me like this.”

Stiles rocks his hips over Derek and the other man groans. “Unfortunately for me, you’re correct. I need to call Scott and let him know it worked. He can contact everyone else.”

Stiles puts a hand between them, palming the growing hardness in Derek’s jeans. “Tell them not to come over for a while. I’m feeling a whole lot better.”

Derek points over Stiles’s shoulder, back to the house. “My phone is over there. You’re going to have to let me up.”

Stiles frowns and pulls Derek’s shirt over his head instead. Stiles rubs his palms over Derek’s skin, pleased with the goosebumps that rise in the wake of his touch. Stiles leans forward and presses his face into Derek’s neck. Derek moves his head so he is mirroring Stiles, nose pressed into the soft spot behind Stiles’s ear. Stiles shifts his waist, seeking friction for his aching dick. It’s not enough but Derek’s neck is right there under his nose.

Stiles slides his mouth over Derek’s skin until he reaches the juncture between Derek’s neck and shoulder. Stiles bites down on that spot and Derek’s body shivers beneath him a moment before Derek’s teeth, blunt and human, bite the same spot. 

The sensation loop is overwhelming with his teeth on Derek, Derek shaking beneath him, and Derek’s teeth send lightning bolts of pleasure to every nerve ending in his body. Stiles’s tattoos are glowing again. They are in the front of their yard, surrounded by trees and the territory that belongs to them both, with their bodies filling with power and need. Stiles has never felt so close to coming clothed and untouched in his life.

Derek breaks contact first. “I’m close.”

“I need you inside me.” Stiles crawls off Derek, body screaming at the loss of contact and offers his hand to Derek. 

Stiles pulls Derek up then drags him into the house and to their bedroom. Their clothes are abandoned quickly all over the room. Stiles grabs the lube before he sprawls out on the bed, covering his own finger with the liquid. He groans as he shoves his finger into his hole. Derek is out of his boxer briefs like they’re burning him and he wraps his hand around Stiles’s hand between his legs. Derek teases Stiles’s opening with the tip of his finger as Stiles works himself open. The small touches make Stiles’s dick twitch on his stomach.

Derek takes the lube from Stiles and pours the liquid on his finger. Stiles starts to remove his own finger, only too happy to let Derek take over, but Derek holds his hand in place and then Derek slides his own finger in along Stiles and all the air is squeezed out of Stiles. Derek takes over the movements of their hands and pulls both his finger and Stiles’s in and out of Stiles’s quivering body. Stiles feels more wetness between his cheeks as Derek adds another finger to the two already there, stretching Stiles until he is desperate and open, his entire body pulsing with need.

“Derek,” Stiles says his name like a whine, pleading for Derek to fill him in the way he desperately needs.

Derek’s smile is open and his eyes burn through whatever is left of Stiles as the knowledge that he’s the only one who gets to see this version of Derek. Derek lubes himself up, pumping his cock first from hooded head to the base a few times while Stiles squirms beneath him.

Derek chuckles and grabs one of Stiles’s legs behind the knee, positions himself so that the head of his dick is bumping up against Stiles’s opening, and Stiles can’t breathe.

“I’m going to die if you don’t fuck me already,” the words are breathy when they’re pulled from Stiles’s mouth.

Derek leans over Stiles. “Such a sweet talker.” Derek opens Stiles mouth up with a hungry kiss, his tongue everywhere in Stiles’s mouth, and that’s when Derek stops teasing him.

Derek pushes almost all the way in with one thrust so that Stiles is covered by and filled with Derek everywhere. Derek pauses after pushing in, then pulls out slowly before thrusting back into Stiles until he’s bottomed out and Stiles is writhing beneath him.

“God, the things you do to me. I’m not going to last long,” Derek says as sets a quick rhythm for them.

“Good because you’re about to fuck me into the best orgasm of my life. Shut up and move.” Stiles smacks Derek’s ass and they both laugh.

Stiles heart clenches at how beautiful Derek looks like this, flushed, muscles moving as he pushes in and out of Stiles’s body. Stiles wraps his hand around himself and pumps himself from head to base in time with Derek’s movements. It only takes moments before Stiles feels the gathering in the base of his spine and his legs start to shake. He falls apart under Derek, come painting both their chests. 

Derek’s pace stutters, then Stiles can feel Derek come inside him, pulsing and raw. Derek gathers Stiles up and moves them so they are laying side by side. Stiles snuggles against Derek, who is still inside him. They lay that way for a while before cleaning up.

They tumble back into bed. Stiles sends a quick text to the pack to let them know he’s fine but not to come over, then he turns his phone to silent. Derek turns his back to Stiles and Stiles wraps himself around the other man, 

“I love you,” Derek turns his head so Stiles can see most of his face.

“You’re my anchor,” Stiles replies, levering himself up to place a kiss on Derek’s cheek. “When I was healing myself the power was heady. I could have drowned in it happily, but I felt you beside me and I came back to you.” Stiles tightens his arms around Derek. “I’ll always come back to you.”


	15. Chapter 15

The next day, Derek gets up before Stiles and makes coffee in the French Press, exactly the way Stiles likes it best. He pours it in Stiles’s favorite cup, a white mug with the Death Star and the words “Death Star Tech Support” on the side, and takes it up to Stiles in bed. 

Stiles sips it and hums in pleasure. The smile he gives Derek makes Derek’s insides melt with pleasure. He’ll never get tired of pampering and taking care of Stiles.

“I don’t know why you take such good care of me, but I’m not going to question it.” Stiles lifts his face for a kiss and Derek obliges him happily. They curl in bed together, both reading and sipping coffee until the first cup is gone.

“Cora and your dad are making breakfast at the Pack House.” Derek puts his mug on the bedside table and rests his head on Stiles’s shoulder. 

“We should take a shower and go.” Stiles sighs and starts to get out of bed. He’s naked and shakes his ass on the way to the bathroom. “Coming Hale?”

Derek scrambles after him.

They’re a little late leaving the house, but they both have dopey grins on their faces, fresh mugs of coffee in their hands, and the sun is filtering through the trees. Derek shifts his coffee to his left hand and takes Stiles’s hand in his own. The magic flares between them, fed by the power of their connection and the forest around them. Stiles’s tattoos are glimmering in the sunlight and the pulse of power that echoes over him from Stiles and the forest is potent. 

They make it to the main house and are greeted with hugs and laughter.

Theo wrinkles his nose at them. “I’m not going to get used to the way you two smell all the time now. Like you’ve been rolling in each other’s…”

“Theo,” Noah’s voice is pitched to be heard over the fray and holds the edge of authority that is wielded by Alphas and sheriffs. “Come help Cora make the biscuits.”

Cora makes a snorting noise and winks at Stiles. “I’m glad they finally got their heads out of their asses long enough to figure out they loved each other.”

“Only so they could put something else up their asses,” Theo mumbles quietly enough that only the weres can hear.

Isaac doubles over with laughter. Liam sidles up behind Theo, puts one hand on the other man’s hip and runs a hand over Theo’s chest. In his ear, Liam says, “You’re just jealous.”

Derek can smell the spike of need coming off both of them and thinks that relationship won’t hold out much longer. Those two have been dancing around each other for ages. 

Scott, Sophia, and Malia wander into the kitchen. Sophia is relaxed and has slid in easily to the pack after the rough start. She wanders over to Stiles to talk to him. Derek usually doesn’t listen, but he’s curious and maybe a little bit protective of Stiles after everything. 

“I talked to Scott and Malia,” she says.

Stiles makes an encouraging noise and pours her a cup of coffee.

“I’m going to stay in Beacon Hills. I put in my resume with some engineering firms. I’d like to find a position here.” She waits, obviously looking for approval.

Stiles gives her one of his wide, open smiles. “That’s great.”

Sophia blushes. “Thanks, Stiles.” She wanders off to sit by Em who has their head together with Lydia.

Stiles goes to talk to his dad, who is making french toast on one large griddle while Parrish flips eggs on another. Derek watches everyone from the doorway of the kitchen as they laugh and talk together. He hopes his mother would be proud of the Pack that lives here now. They’re different from his family. They’re a group of people that were lost before they found each other—now they’re family.

Scott moves so that he’s standing next to Derek, shoulders touching. “Stiles seems to be doing fine.”

Derek had called Scott and Noah yesterday after everything to give them an update. He’d left it up to them to disperse the news. “He’s better than fine actually. You should ask to see his new tattoos. He’s quite proud of them.”

Scott chuckled. “I’m sure he is.” Scott sips his coffee and keeps watching Stiles. “I got an email this morning from a pack in Wyoming. They have a new druid who wants to come and live with us for a time to study under Stiles.”

Pride flares in Derek. “I’m not sure what the world is coming to if Stiles is going to become a mentor to others.”

At that moment, Stiles was lifting up his shirt, showing Isaac, Liam, and Theo the new tattoos glimmering on his chest. They were suitably impressed but it’s Cora’s soft, “Good job, Red,” that makes the other man blush. 

Derek is pulled back to the conversation by Scott’s voice. “Are you okay with having another druid here? If we say yes to this, there will be others.”

Derek nods. “Stiles already does consulting work for other packs. It was only a matter of time before they reached out this way as well. I think Stiles will make a very good mentor. We already give sanctuary to those that ask. This seems like a natural extension of that. It’ll increase our standing with the other packs as well. Ultimately though, it’s up to Stiles.”

Scott gives Derek that boyish smile the other man has never quite lost. “I’ll talk to him about it later today. He’s happy with you. You’re happy with each other.”

Derek can feel his neck and ears heat. He doesn’t comment.

Scott runs a hand across Derek’s neck, scenting him. “I love you both.” Scott walks away and sits at the table with Lydia and Em. Derek watches Scott as he makes the rounds, talking to and touching everyone in turn. Scott has grown into a good Alpha. Letting the strengths of his people shine and encouraging them with support and fighting at their side if that’s what’s required.

Stiles is talking to his dad and Derek moves into the kitchen to join them. 

“Morning, son,” Noah greets him.

“Morning.” Derek stands next to Stiles, wrapping an arm around his waist. Derek revels in the way Stiles melts into him, his scent going warm and pleased.

“Stiles, you better not mess this relationship up. Derek takes good care of you and I doubt you’ll find anyone else to put up with you like he does.” Noah flips the batch of french toast he’s working on.

Isaac snorts from the other side of the kitchen. “Truer words were never spoken.”

Stiles snuggles in closer to Derek. “Don’t worry, Dad. I’m never letting him go.”

“I want you both over for dinner this week,” Noah says.

In the end, breakfast is loud and raucous as only a Pack meal can be. Derek sits next to Stiles and Cora at the large table in the dining room and he feels like his heart is too full to contain the people at this table and how they’re woven together. 

Stiles lays a hand on Derek’s thigh and gives him a small kiss on the cheek then slides his mouth to his ear. Stiles whispers in Derek’s ear, his warm breath tickling as he says, “You’ll always be my home.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to everyone who read along and left lovely comments. Y'all are amazing.


End file.
